Return from Inkworld
by Sauron Gorthaur
Summary: 12 years after Inkdeath, Mo's son and Dustfinger's daughter return to our world. But when Orpheus carries out his plan of revenge, two old friends find themselves in another story, this time to save their children before it's too late. Complete.
1. Longing for Another World

**Return From Inkworld**

**by Sauron Gorthaur**

Chapter 1: Longing for Another World

Spring brought the gray world to life again. Trees whispered secrets as the grass grew green and flowers bloomed in the glades. Newly awoken fairies skimmed across the water in search of anything they could use to patch up their winter-damaged nests, and goldmockers trilled in the rushes by the gurgling stream.

The boy skipped bare foot through the grass, stopping only to cut off a strand of his dark hair for a fairy when it flew down to him. He laughed when the tiny creature zipped away to its nest with the lock, then continued meandering towards the stream as if he had all the time in the world.

When he reached the stream, he paused to watch the fish dart away from his shadow, but he soon continued on his way, looking around expectantly. It was not long before he discovered what he was looking for. Not far from where the stream ran into the forest, a girl was standing in the water, skipping stones, while the wind tugged playfully at her red hair.

She looked up as the boy jumped up onto a large boulder on the edge of the stream and waved. Then, picking up the trailing ends of her skirt, she made her way to the bank, pushing her loose hair back from her forehead. "I hope you brought something to eat, Alvino," she said, flopping down on the grass beside her. "Stone skipping and wet feet gives me an appetite."

Alvino looked skeptical at that remark, but then he grinned and displayed a pack he had been carrying. "I've got some of those honey cakes, but your mother says you shouldn't eat too much or you won't want dinner."

The girl gave the pack a look of longing. "Honey cakes! Now my stomach is gurgling as loudly as the stream. And since when have I eaten too much?"

They dug into the pack and shared the cakes between them. The girl licked her honey-coated fingers and sighed. But then she cast Alvino a questioning look. "So, have you asked your father yet?"

Alvino felt suddenly uncomfortable. "Miranda, I don't…"

She raised an eyebrow and jutted out her chin aggressively. "You told me you were going to ask him."

"I will," Alvino assured her. "I just haven't got around to it yet. He's very busy, you know. Balbalus wants his new book bound before the week is ended."

Miranda leaned back on her elbows. "But you will ask him, won't you? Just as soon as you can?"

Alvino still felt uncomfortable. "Yes, of course, but I don't know that I'll get any different answers. He always just says 'later' or 'I'll think about it', but I think he believes I'm too young."

Miranda snorted. "You're twelve, aren't you? Your sister was only thirteen when she came here. And I'm going to be twelve in another month. We're plenty old enough, and it isn't like we're planning on going all alone, is it? You should ask him today."

"Well, speaking of asking permission, have you asked yet?" Alvino nodded knowingly as Miranda suddenly did not look quite so eager. "How do you know you can come along at all? After all, I don't think your father's too keen about the other world. We've all heard what he says about it."

"Yes," Miranda retorted, "and we've all heard what your mother, sister, and aunt say about it, too. They don't talk about it as if it were a bad place. I want to see it just as much as you do, the moving pictures, the flying carriages, and all the other things they describe."

Alvino stood up. "Right, we'll make a deal then. I'll ask Mo about it tonight and won't let up until I get a real answer out of him, and you'll ask your father, though I'm warning you, he'll probably put you in a ring of fire and never let you out again."

Miranda tossed her hair airily. "I'd like to see him try. All right, it's a deal. We can meet again tomorrow and make plans." She giggled. "It's so exciting to think that after all these years we might actually get to go to that other world, actually see it."

Rising to his feet, Alvino swung the empty pack over one shoulder. "I'm going home now. If you come along, I can drop you by your house before I go on."

Miranda stood swiftly and followed after him on light feet. "Your mother was going to be at my house. Mum was showing her how to grow thyme. If she's still there, maybe you can stay for a while, and I can show you the new fairy nest in the eaves."

They walked along, sometimes racing each other, sometimes stopping to pick up a colorful stone, a flower, or some other object that caught their eye. Finally, the cottage on the hill came into view, and they headed towards the small gate in the wall.

Even before they were through the gate, they heard the two voices in the front yard, both raised angrily. Miranda and Alvino exchanged knowingly glances as they closed the gate and peaked around the house at the man and woman who looked as if they were about to come to blows. If it did come to that, it would have been hard to say who would have come out on top. The man was taller and well-built, but the woman was glaring at him so ferociously that she looked perfectly capable of taking him down. It was she who was doing most of the shouting.

"And for another thing, whose bright idea was it to have a world ruled by power hungry princes? Good gracious, I'm sure there's enough money in Ombra castle to not just pave the roads, but to pave them in gold if someone had a mind to. But no, the money goes to expensive royal clothes and fine banquets while I'm trudging down muddy roads getting my feet wet. Where I come from, one would be appalled if there were mud pits in the middle of a road."

"Well, I'm certainly not keeping you," the man shot back. "Go back to your wonderful world of noise, lights, and concrete roads and see if I care."

The woman was just taking a breath to continue her rant, when Alvino's father and mother, along with Miranda's mother appeared on the scene. Miranda's mother immediately went to placate Miranda's fuming father whose hair was literally flaming with sparks while Mo and Resa hushed Elinor, who still looked as if she would have liked to hit her opponent.

Mo was sighing wearily. "Really, Elinor, can't you two get along? We know you aren't friends, but do you have to start yelling every time you see each other?"

Elinor's face was still red. "You should have heard him," she snorted. "I was merely commenting on the fact that someone might have the decency to get the roads paved after I stepped in at least four mud puddles on the way here."

Mo passed a hand over his eyes. "Dustfinger?"

Miranda's father shot Elinor a nasty look. "Yes, and I _merely_ told her that if she doesn't like it, she can go back to her own blasted world."

Elinor's face went even redder. "See! He can say absolutely anything he wants about my world, but I can't say a single word against his precious world. How is that fair?"

"You came here of your own free will," Miranda's father growled, "while you might remember that the same most certainly cannot be said of me in your world."

"He does have a point, Elinor," said Mo.

Elinor threw her hands up in disgust. "Oh, I see how it's going to be. Right, side with the matchstick-eater. I'm through." And with that she marched off in a huff. The look that Miranda's father cast at her retreating figure could only be called a smirk.

Mo looked up at the sky as if seeking help from there, then shook his head. "Do you have to provoke her, Dustfinger? Can't you let it go just once?"

Miranda's father folded his arms across his chest. "She has no right to barge into my world and complain about everything she doesn't think is perfect. I don't want to have to hear about her world every time I see her."

Alvino cast Miranda a curious look. "Are you still going to ask him about coming? He's not going to be happy."

Miranda avoided the question and stepped out from behind the house. "Come on, I think the argument's over."

Alvino followed her and saw his parents look up and see him. He ran over, and Resa put an arm around his shoulder. "Ready to go home? We were just about to leave." Alvino nodded, and waved at Miranda who was going in with parents, before following his own father and mother. They caught up quickly with Elinor who was trudging back towards their house muttering under her breath. Alvino had to admit that the roads were very muddy from the spring rains, but his bare feet didn't mind the cool, thick sludge.

All the way home he thought about how he should phrase his question when he asked Mo if he could go to that other world. He had asked before, but his questions had always been dismissed, not unkindly, but dismissed all the same. This time he wanted an answer, and preferably he wanted that answer to be yes.

"Is Meggie going to be here for dinner?" he asked Resa as they went inside their cottage house.

"No," she answered as she shut the door behind Mo. "But she and Doria were planning to come over some time tomorrow, that is if Doria can find the time. He's very busy, you know."

Over dinner, the three Folcharts listened to Elinor ranting to Darius about her argument. Resa looked at Mo and shook her head.

After dinner, Mo slipped off as he always did to the room he had turned into his workshop. Alvino hovered around the doorway for a while before plucking up enough courage to slip into the workshop. The one window lit the table where the almost completed book lay and several candles lit the rest of the room. Mo was sitting at the table, selecting a knife from his leather pouch. Alvino took his place on the bench beside him and watched him work for a while. Sometimes, Mo would ask him a question and he would briefly answer, but for the most part there was no sound except for Mo's tools.

Finally, Alvino decided that he had been putting his question off for long enough. "Mo?" he asked.

"Yes." Mo didn't look up from his work, but Alvino could tell that he was listening.

"I'm almost twelve and a half. In two more months, I will be."

"Yes, you're going to be all grown up and married like Meggie before I know what's happened, aren't you?"

Alvino kicked the table leg slowly. "Then I'm old enough to go to that other world now, right?"

Mo did look up this time, and Alvino could see a troubled look in his eyes. "Alvino…" he began wearily, but he just sighed and shook his head.

Alvino looked pleadingly at him. "Please, Mo, you said when I was old enough, I could go. And don't just say we can talk about it later."

Putting down his tools, Mo turned to him. "But don't you like it here? This is a nice world, isn't it?"

Alvino sighed. "Yes, of course I like it here. I don't want to stay in that other world – I just want to see the things Resa, Meggie, and Aunt Elinor tell me about. And Elinor has said that she'll come, too, so she can watch over me and show me all those wonderful things she's always talking about. And then, I'll come back here."

For a moment, Mo had a distant look in his eyes. "Yes, well, I guess I learned my lesson with your sister. I suppose I'm going to have to let you go before you run off and do something stupid like Meggie did and break my heart in the process. I'll talk to Elinor tomorrow about making arrangements for you to go, and I imagine that Darius will go with you, too."

Alvino could hardly believe what he was hearing. Mo really was going to let him go. He felt his heart skipping inside of him at the thought of such an adventure. But Mo was still looking at him with a sad expression as if the conversation had brought back bad memories that he would have rather not remembered. Alvino felt a twinge of guilt.

Mo went on working for a few minutes, but then he stopped and turned to Alvino again. "I do know what it's like, longing for another world. But if you're not careful, that longing can become dangerous. Get your fill of the other world, but please can back safe."

Slipping off the bench, Alvino hugged his father. "I just want to see it," he whispered.

"I know," said Mo.

After he had blown the candle in his room out that night, Alvino lay awake in his bed, staring up at the black ceiling. In the next room, he could hear his parents' voices, and, although he could not make out words, he could guess what they were discussing. He wriggled into the sheets with delight and closed his eyes. Another world. Soon it wouldn't be mere stories that he listened to his mother tell him. Soon it would be reality.


	2. The Fire Dancer's Daughter

Chapter 2: The Fire-Dancer's Daughter

The stew and freshly baked bread that sat on the table in front of Miranda smelled wonderful, but somehow she suddenly didn't feel like eating. She kept thinking of Alvino and the conversation they had had on the stream bank_. I'll ask Mo about it tonight and won't let up until I get a real answer out of him, and you'll ask your father._ It hadn't seemed like much sitting on the grass with her head full of thoughts about the other world, but now the thought of what she had to do made knots in her stomach.

She surreptitiously cast her father a look from under her long eyelashes. He hadn't said anything since they sat down, but that wasn't unusual. Of course, it was useless trying to figure out his thoughts from looking at his face – it was as impassive as ever.

Brianna said something to her mother who answered in a quiet voice, but Miranda was not listening. Maybe, she should just give the whole thing up. But then Alvino would go off without her to that other world and see all sorts of wonderful things, while she was left behind. Left behind because she was afraid to talk to her father.

"You haven't touched anything. Are you all right, Miranda?"

It took Miranda a second to realize that her mother was talking to her. She looked up to see both her mother and sister watching her, but she avoided her father's glance. "Yes, I'm all right," she muttered, sounding unconvincing even to herself.

Her mother sighed deeply. "I told that boy not to feed you so many cakes that you wouldn't want dinner. Well, if you're not going to eat, you can go."

Miranda slipped off thankfully, hurrying from the room. She went outside and sat down on a fallen log that her father and Jehan had moved into the garden to act as a bench. Staring at the ground between her feet, she heaved a sigh. _I want to see it all so much_, she thought, _but Alvino was right. Father will never let me go there, not in a thousand years._

Something moved in the grass at her feet and as she stared, a flower rose from the ground, a red flower made of sparks with tiny flames as petals. She did not turn and look behind her, but continued to stare down at the flower, her red hair like a curtain on either side of her face. Even when her father sat down beside her, she did not look at him.

He reached down and plucked his burning flower from the ground, then brushed her hair back from her face as he put the flower in her hair behind her ear. It did not burn her, not the Fire-Dancer's daughter, but she could feel the warmth of it seeping through her skin.

"Miranda." His voice was soft. "What's wrong?"

She felt her heart tremble, felt the tears that desperately wanted to spring to her eyes. She couldn't look at him because she knew that if he looked into her eyes, he would see all her thoughts written there. She knew that if she asked her question, she would only hurt him, and she could not bring herself to do that. But he took her chin and gently, but forcefully turned her face to his. He looked at her expectantly and so lovingly that she couldn't hold the tears back any longer. A sob sprang to her lips, and then the tears were streaming down her face. She put her arms around his neck and just sobbed into his shirt.

He let her cry for a while until her wails turned to quiet sniffles. Then he tipped her head back and wiped his fingers across her cheeks, the heat of his hands instantly drying the tears. "What's wrong?" he repeated.

Miranda choked on her words, but somehow still managed to get them out. "Alvino is going to ask his father tonight if he can go to that other world. His father has said he could when he was old enough and…" She had to swallow before she could finish. "…I want to go, too."

There it was: the flicker of pain in his eyes that she had feared. A second later it was covered over, but she had seen it, and suddenly she felt like curling up inside of herself away from his disappointment. She wished he would yell at her like he had at Alvino's aunt, but she knew he wouldn't. His silent, impassive face that hid the pain was far worse.

He passed his fingers slowly through her hair, leaving a trail of sparks like those in his own locks. He was silent for a very long time. When he spoke, his voice seemed more tired than usual. "You want to leave."

She stared down at her hands. "I don't want to stay."

"But you do want to leave." He turned her face back to his once again. "Miranda, please…" He paused as if trying to find the right words. "Please, don't let that world take any more from me. I know you don't understand, but please try to forget it."

"I can't," she whispered, although she wished she could.

"Will you at least think about it? It is not a good world."

"That's not what everyone else says about it. You just hate it because you couldn't get away from it, not because it's a bad world." Even as the words left her mouth, she realized how much they sounded like an accusation. And maybe she had meant them to be. He wasn't going to let her go. He was going to make her stay until her longing burned her. He was going to make her stay while her best friend would be allowed to go. In that moment, some terrible part of her that she had never met before wanted to see the pain on his face.

But he was too skilled at hiding it. She saw his mouth move as if trying to form words, but then he just bit his lip and took his arm away from around her waist. He looked deep into her eyes for a second, then turned and walked slowly away. In her hair, the fiery flower turned into gray ashes.

She wanted to run after him, pull on his tunic, and beg him to play with fire for her as he always did when she was upset, but her legs wouldn't obey her. That new, bitter heart inside of her held her back. So, she bent her head and felt the hot tears of disappointment and anger, both at herself and her father who refused to understand, trace pale lines on her skin.


	3. What More Can Your World Take?

Chapter 3: What More Can Your World Take?

Dustfinger hated crying. It made him feel as if the fire inside of him was being drowned out, extinguished agonizingly slowly. He hated feeling so vulnerable as if his heart was laid open for anyone to destroy at will. But no matter how hard he fought, he felt the inevitable wetness seeping down his face as his breath caught in his throat and forced its way out with a sob.

He had been lucky in that he had not met any of his family when he left Miranda, feeling like his heart had just been ripped apart. He didn't want to talk – he just wanted to let the pain and fear swallow him up until he knew nothing else. He remembered the taste of despair so acutely that it could have been only yesterday that he himself had been in the other world, the world that wanted to devour his daughter as it had devoured him. Time heals all, they said. But it was a lie. Twelve years had not healed the wounds that other place had inflicted upon him. Not even Death had washed away those scars.

He heard the door creak behind him, but he just buried his face in the soft wool sheets that covered the straw mattress of his bed. _Go away_, he thought. _I don't want to listen to words. Not after all they have done to me._ At least, in the other world, doors had locks on them so that you could be truly alone when you wanted to be.

The mattress bounced slightly, and then he felt soft hands caressing his shoulders. "My family seems to be falling apart this evening," Roxane said. "First, my daughter looks like she's swallowed a fire elf at dinner, and then I find my husband weeping his eyes out all alone in his bedroom. I suppose if I look around, I'll find Brianna lamenting in the garden. Why all the tears?"

He lifted his head from the sheets and saw her watching him with concern. And his heart melted. It always did. No matter how bitter he had been feeling, how much he had wanted to simply be alone, all he had to do was to look in her face, and love washed his anger at the world away.

But it didn't wash away sorrow. He took her in his arms, pressed his face to her hair, and smelled the scent of the orange perfume she always wore. It felt good to hold her, but his heart still throbbed painfully in his chest. What would she think? But how could he even begin to explain the emotions crowding into his mind?

Together, he, Silvertongue, and Resa had explained to her the story of his ten year nightmare, and Silvertongue had read for her. But even when she saw the fairy from the words appear in the room, she had still doubted. Dustfinger still wasn't sure if she really believed in the other world. What would she say if she knew her daughter wanted to go there?

So, he just kissed her black hair and murmured in her ear. "I never knew being a father could be so miserable. If I'd known beforehand, I would have given it second thoughts."

She lifted her head from his chest and looked at him anxiously. "Miranda?"

He sighed deeply. "She's growing up, Roxane. She's not a little girl any more, but I still want to make her decisions for her. Oh, I don't know what to do." He fell silent for a while and tried to collect his confused thoughts. But finally he just squeezed Roxane and turned away from her. "I need some time to think alone. You know where I'll be if you need me." He looked back at her and flashed her one of the smiles that he reserved only for her, full of his love. "Don't worry – I'll be back in an hour or so, and then I can tell you more."

He slipped out of the house and down the path towards the forest. The sun was far in the west, blood red in its final hours. Under the forest trees, it was already dark, but Dustfinger loved the shadows and the darkness. The sweet smell of new spring flowers refreshed his soul as he wandered to his place, his own private retreat when he wanted peace.

It was a clearing in the forest, almost perfectly circular and surrounded by the tall trees and thick shrubs. When he looked up, he could see the dying light dancing through the top leaves and falling down to bathe him in a warm glow. Only four other beings in this world knew about his hideout: his wife from whom he kept no secrets, his youngest daughter whom he brought here sometimes when she had been crying and had begged him to make fire dance for her, the boy who now played with fire as well as he himself had before the White Women had taken him and taught him new secrets, and the woman who had been his only comfort in a place filled with nothing but despair. There had once been five who knew of this place, but Gwin was now buried behind his house, next to the grave of his second daughter.

Once Dustfinger would have had to speak to call the flames or at least snap his fingers to summon them, but no longer. They knew his thoughts now and all he had to do was will their presence. They rose from the grass like red flowers and greeted him with their crackling voices, singing to him softly as they coiled around his legs. _Dance for me_. He thought. _Dance for me and take away the pain. Burn it away and dance._

They obeyed, leaping from the grass, creating images in the darkening glade, swirling, burning in the air, dancing for him. He stretched out his arms, and they expanded, rose higher and higher into the air, sending red light lancing into every shadow until the trees gleamed crimson. He stood in the middle of the fire as it reached out and covered him. His skin burned hotter than a furnace as he closed his eyes and let the fire touch his very heart.

He knew suddenly that he was no longer alone. He knew who it was without turning, and he let the fire dim to let her know that he was aware of her presence. The flames licked down his arms as he spoke. "Why have you come? You have known my pain, but you still fed my daughter words that could only lead to her longing for that other place. What more can your world take?"

He regretted his words before they had even all left his mouth. He extinguished the fire on his arms, and turned slowly, ashamed at having lashed out at the only person who could possibly comprehend what he was going through.

Resa. In the light of the setting sun and of his fires, her hair looked almost as red as his. She was certainly still as beautiful as the day he had first met her, but now she was looking as sad as she had that day, too, and he knew his words were to blame. He stepped towards her hesitantly. "Resa, I'm…I'm sorry. Please, I didn't mean it. You know how harsh my stupid tongue can be when I don't think. I didn't mean it."

He was stammering as pathetically as Darius. Words were so useless. When you weren't careful, they hurt viciously, and then they always abandoned you when you tried to apologize.

Resa looked at him finally, and he saw the sorrow in her eyes. "Yes, you did," she said quietly. "You wouldn't have said them if you didn't mean them. But you're right. I should have learned my lesson when my stories carried Meggie away to this world. But I didn't, and now my son can't think of anything but cars and airplanes just as Meggie once could only think of fairies and glass men."

She let out a trembling sigh. "I could bear it if it was only Alvino who wanted to go, but, oh, Dustfinger, what have I done to you?"

He knew she hated crying just as much as he did, but he could already see the tears glistening in her eyes. The fire was still caressing him, asking him to keep playing, but he no longer wanted its comfort. He walked to Resa slowly until he was standing right in front of her. She quickly bent her head, hiding her tears from him as she scrubbed them away with the back of her hand. He just stood there, feeling helpless, knowing that her last sentence had been both true and false. He knew she was crying because she felt terrible about taking his daughter from him, but he also knew that she was crying as much for Alvino as for him.

She slipped into his arms silently, and with a sigh, he held her as he always used to in Capricorn's village. "Resa, I thought we'd agreed not to do this anymore," he murmured.

She tipped her head back and looked him in the eyes. "I don't remember agreeing," she answered just as quietly. "Are you going to send me away? You have never sent me away before."

He looked back and searched for the answers he wanted in her face. "Why are you here, Resa? It was different then – we were all alone and both of us would have gone crazy if there wasn't some comfort. But I'm not the one you should come to now. You have a husband to hold you, and I'm sure he can do a much better job with it than I can. Why are you here?"

"I'm here for the same reason you're here playing with fire instead of being with Roxane. Because Mo doesn't understand any more than Roxane does. Neither of them knows what it's like to leave a child who's barely more than an infant and then to come back and find that she's almost grown. They don't know what it's like to be terrified of losing another child."

At hearing her speak his own thoughts, he felt the pain coming back even stronger. He closed his eyes, as if that could keep the misery away. "I don't know what to do," he whispered. "I want Miranda to be happy, but I won't lose another daughter. When she was born, I thought she was my chance for redemption, to make up for all the years that I wasn't a good father. And I've tried, Resa, I've tried so hard. But I've failed once again."

It had been twelve years since three scars had marred his face, but Resa's fingers still traced his cheek as if she could clearly see them there. "You haven't failed," she reassured him. "I've watched you, and, believe me, Miranda could not ask for a more devoted father. And she loves you, too – anyone can tell that."

She took a deep breath before continuing. "I can't tell you what to do or make your decisions for you, but I can give you advice and that's why I'm here. They won't be going alone to my world, and they certainly won't be doing anything dangerous. That world is no more dangerous than this world, so I don't think we really need to be worried. Not that we won't be, but still, we can put up with it a week or two, and then they'll be back safe and sound. Believe me, Dustfinger, it's a lot more pleasant to let a child go willingly than to wake up one morning and find an empty room. You know as well as I do what terrible things longing can do to a person. It tears at your heart, drags you away. It can even turn a kind-hearted man, who normally wouldn't hurt a fly, into a traitor."

Dustfinger glanced down briefly at her last words, but then he gave her a determined look. "I don't like it, but you're right. You can tell your son that Miranda will be coming with him." The words were difficult to say, as if something were stuck in his throat trying to keep them down, but he said them and told himself that he would not take them back.

Resa stepped away from him, but kept a hand on his shoulder. "It'll be fine," she said, giving him a brief smile. "Mo is going to talk it over with everyone tomorrow, and we'll decide who all is going. You and Roxane are welcome to come if you want."

He laughed bitterly. "No, I think it's best that I at least stay at home. I don't think putting me in the same room as Elinor when I'm feeling the way I am right now is a good idea. I'd only be resentful and say something I'd regret later. I'll tell Roxane though, and she can go with Miranda if she likes." He pushed his hair back from his face and sighed for what seemed like the hundredth time that night. "I told Roxane I wouldn't be gone for more than an hour, and I suppose I've made my decision for better or for worse."

She turned to walk away, but he stopped her. "Resa, thank you for coming," he said softly.

She smiled sadly at him, and then he watched her disappear into the trees that now were shadowed in night. Looking up, he saw the stars in the sky and the white moonlight on the tree tops. That other world had taken many things from him, but it would not take his daughter. As he stood there, silently gazing upwards, he swore that he would protect her, even if he had to fight Death to do so.


	4. A Company of Five

Chapter 4: A Company of Five

As soon as Alvino left his workshop, Mo put away his tools and carefully laid aside the leather book cover he had been working on. Rubbing a tired hand across his brow, he went in search of his wife.

Resa was outside feeding bread crumbs to a goldmocker that had built a nest in the tree by their house, but she looked up when he came to sit by her. In the sky, the sun was just starting its descent, and, although it was hard to tell exact times in this world, Mo guessed that it was about six o' clock. Resa put her hand into his when he sat down beside her, and for a few minutes they both silently observed the cool spring evening.

"Alvino just asked me again if he could go," Mo said quietly. There was no need for him to say where. "I guess I thought he'd grow out of it as he got older, but obviously I was wrong. I should have guessed though that he wouldn't grow out of it anymore than anyone else does. I mean, who hasn't wanted to go into their favorite stories, even adults? We're proof of that."

Resa bent her head and stared down at the grass between her feet. He saw the worry in her eyes, and he knew that same worry was somewhere deep inside of him. But it wasn't nearly as bad as he had thought it might be – after all, he had always known this would come.

"He's so young," she murmured.

Mo squeezed her hand gently. "No younger than Meggie was."

She laughed softly, but all the same, she still didn't look happy. "And what did you tell him?"

"I told him yes." He put a finger to her lips as she started to speak. "Listen, do you want him to vanish into thin air the way Meggie did? Elinor is always talking about how much she wants to see her books again. She'll go with him, and they can stay at Elinor's house while she shows him around. She'll be delighted, I'm sure, and then they'll come back and everything will go back to normal."

Resa bit her lip. "You're sure you can still do it? After all, it has been twelve years. And how will they get back? What if they get stuck there? There aren't any copies of the book at all there for them to get back with if something goes wrong."

Mo smiled and shook his head. "Since when have you been so nervous? You were always the adventurous one, weren't you? I'm the one who should be making all the excuses, not you. For heaven's sake, they'll be fine. Yes, I'm sure I can still do it, and if I can't, then surely Meggie or Darius still can. And as for them coming back, they can take the book with them, and maybe Darius will agree to go. He talks about the books almost as much as Elinor. I'll talk it over with them tomorrow."

Resa leaned against him and breathed out a long sigh. "Yes, I suppose you're right."

There was really nothing more to say, so they just sat there in silence. Maybe he should be worried, like Resa, but somehow, he wasn't. He thought of Elinor's house filled with books and the room that had been his workshop where he had spent so many hours, and for a moment, he wished he could go back, too, back to the world that had been his home for so many years. But then he thought of the fairies, the market square in Ombra, and the beautiful books he bound for Balbalus, and the brief thoughts of longing vanished from his mind.

It was at that moment that he felt it: a pain deep within him, a gnawing doubt, and a nameless fear.

He pressed a hand to his chest and felt his heart beating slowly and regularly, but the pain was there, an ache he had felt before, but many, many years ago. For a second, confusion filled his thoughts – maybe he was more worried about Alvino than he had thought – but then realization hit him. It was not his heart that was feeling that pain and fear, but another heart that he had almost forgotten was connected to his.

Resa looked at him with concern. "Mo, are you all right?"

He pressed his hand harder over his chest as he felt the sorrow increase as if it were his own. "Alvino was with Miranda today, wasn't he?"

Resa was puzzled by the comment. "Yes," she answered slowly, still looking at him anxiously. "Is something wrong? Are you all right?"

Mo glanced up into her face. "Yes, _I'm_ all right," he said, putting a distinct emphasis on the second word.

Resa looked from his face, to his hand, and then back at his face, and he saw her put two and two together. Her face went pale.

"If I've guessed correctly," Mo said, "I think Alvino and Miranda must be planning on going together, and I think Miranda must have just informed her father of her plans. And I don't think Dustfinger is too pleased about that."

"No," Resa whispered. "What have I done?" She gazed at him pleadingly. "What is he thinking? Is he very bad off?"

But Mo just shook his head. "He was always much better at reading my heart than I was at reading his. And he's just as skilled at closing his heart as he is at closing his face." Already, he could feel a barrier being put between his heart and Dustfinger's. He could still sense the other man's fear and pain, but no longer so strongly that it felt like his own.

Resa pressed a hand to her mouth, and there was shock in her eyes. "I never thought my stories would lead to this," she said. "I knew that Alvino would want to go someday, but I never thought of Miranda. Oh, Mo, I'll never be able to forgive myself if I've hurt him again."

Mo felt a slight pang of jealousy. "You still love him, don't you?"

Resa frowned. "I don't need to be in love with him to feel sorry for him, Mo. You hardly knew him in the other world, but I watched him suffer day after day, year after year. For heaven's sake, he's a good man, and he deserves a happy life after everything he's been through. I know how he feels, and I won't stand by and let him suffer again, especially when I'm to blame."

She paused, and Mo thought he could see tears in her eyes. "I know where he'll be – let me go and talk to him."

Mo shrugged. "I'm not going to stop you, but I don't think there's much you can do for him." As she went to the door, he stood and followed her. "Tell him he is welcome to come tomorrow and listen to our plans. He won't come, but tell him all the same. Resa, I do feel sorry for him, but if Miranda has got it in her mind to go with Alvino, then there's nothing we can do about it."

Resa nodded sadly, then disappeared into the trees.

~o~o~

Mo had never seen Alvino so excited before, but why shouldn't he be? He was going to a completely different world after all. When he heard that Miranda was being allowed to go with him, he literally jumped for joy and whooped until Elinor said, "Heavens above, if he keeps this up, he won't have any energy to do anything once he's there, and this little trip will come to nothing."

Resa was just setting out dinner, when there was a knock on the door. Alvino got there first and immediately bombarded his sister with his news. "Meggie! I'm going to the other world, the one you talk about. I'm going to see cars and televisions and airplanes!"

Resa rescued her daughter and Doria, who was watching the proceedings with amusement, and took them into the kitchen where the family sat down for lunch. "Is it true?" Meggie asked, looking across the table at Mo. "Alvino is really going?"

Mo nodded. "Why not? He's old enough. But we'll discuss that later after lunch. How have things been going for you and Doria in Ombra?"

He listened as Meggie and Doria talked about life in the city and the new inventions Doria was always taking up to the castle to show to Violente. Both of them were very happy – he could tell just by looking in their faces and hearing the enthusiastic way in which they talked. He still didn't know if he would ever get used to see Meggie wearing her hair up or dressing in the fine gowns that looked as if they should belong to a noblewoman. Doria was well paid for his inventions.

After lunch they all went into the main room of the house, and Mo looked around at the eager faces. His gaze rested on Resa last of all. "Are we expecting anyone else?" he asked.

Resa's eyes wandered to the door, and she nodded briefly. "I believe so."

As if on cue, there was a knock on the door, and Resa opened it to reveal Roxane and Miranda standing in the doorway. Miranda flashed Alvino a huge smile and ran over to sit by him, but Roxane looked pensively around the group, before sitting down with Resa.

Mo nodded. "Well, I think everyone knows why we're here, so let's get straight to it. Obviously, Alvino and Miranda can't go alone to the other world. Who is going with them?"

He was by no means surprised when Elinor spoke up. "Well, I'm probably far too old to go flitting between two worlds, but I would dearly love to see my house again. Heavens, most likely the books have all turned to dust ages ago and the place will be a wreak, but still, I'd like to go along."

Darius raised a timid hand. "I wouldn't mind seeing it again, either."

There was a brief silence during which Mo looked around. "So, Elinor, Darius, Alvino, and Miranda. That works out perfectly then. I can read you all there, and Darius can read you back, I'm sure."

However, at these words Darius looked decidedly nervous. "W…well, I don't know," he stammered. "I'm n…not sure if I can."

Elinor glared at him. "I thought you'd gotten over all that when you read us here. Of course you can do it. You're as fine a reader as anyone else in this group."

But Darius shook his head vigorously. "That w…was a long t…time ago and it was only t…two. I'm out of practice, and I d…don't know about four."

Elinor rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Oh really, Darius, you're not half as bad as you make it sound. And if you don't want to read us back, then the whole thing's off, I suppose."

Meggie forestalled any further arguments between Elinor and Darius. "Why don't I come along?" she said. When everyone looked at her in surprise, she went on. "I wasn't planning on going, but I wouldn't mind seeing everything again, either. I'm confident that I can get everyone back if Darius doesn't want to try." Darius looked relieved.

Doria put his arm around his wife's shoulders. "Then I'd like to come, too," he said. "My projects would be so much better if I could actually see all those things. I can't ever seem to get the gliders quite right, for instance."

But Meggie shook her head. "You know you can't come, dear. You have all those projects to work on for Violente, and we really don't want to make things too difficult. A company of five is a large group to read over, more than has ever been done before, as far as I know."

Doria looked for a moment as if he was going to protest, but then he just sighed and nodded. "Some other time then," he said.

"Aren't we forgetting something?" Resa put in. "A very important something? We'll need words, won't we?"

Mo nodded. "Yes, I hadn't forgotten that. We need words, and Fenoglio will write them for us, I'm sure. I'll talk to him about it this afternoon, and hopefully by tomorrow he'll have them ready, although I wouldn't get your hopes up. He never did like being rushed, and he hasn't been getting any younger. But he'll write them."

Roxane had been sitting silently in the corner through the whole conversation, but she chose that moment to put in her own question. "How long will they be gone?" Mo could sense the anxiety in her voice, but that was certainly to be expected. All Roxane knew of this other place was that it had stolen her husband for ten years. He could tell that she was hoping the answer would be "not very long".

Resa put her arm around the other woman. "Not more than two weeks, I should think. That would be plenty of time to see everything they want to see." She looked to Elinor to confirm this, and Elinor nodded.

"Oh yes, two weeks is certainly ample time," she said. "I'm sure by then everyone will be sufficiently homesick and ready to be back."

"Then that's all settled," Mo said. "As soon as Fenoglio writes for us, we'll be ready." As he said the words, he saw Alvino and Miranda exchange an excited look, and he almost had to smile. Perhaps he, Resa, Dustfinger, and Roxane were not so keen about this trip, but he had to admit that it was worth it just to see the anticipation in the children's bright eyes.


	5. Taking the Bait

Chapter 5: Taking the Bait

Fenoglio had been offered a place at the castle, but had declined and opted to continue renting the upstairs room of Minerva's house. It was Minerva who opened the door when Mo knocked, a few hours after the meeting. "He's in the yard," she said in reply to his inquiry about the writer.

Fenoglio was writing feverishly and muttering to himself when Mo came around the side of the house. He didn't even notice his visitor until Mo coughed politely, but when he did, he looked both surprised and pleased. "Mortimer, well, this is unexpected. How are you?"

He beckoned Mo to sit on another chair opposite to him. "I haven't seen you or your family around for ages. Thought you'd forgotten all about me. Well, for what reason do I have the honor of your visit?"

Mo chuckled quietly. No, the Inkweaver certainly hadn't changed one bit. "Well, actually, I was wondering if you could write something for me."

Fenoglio's brows creased. "Write something? I could have guessed that – after all, that's what I seem to be doing every waking minute nowadays. See this?" he waved his paper. "Violente wants three poems by the end of the week, and Balbalus wants me to copy out part of a book that got stained. And now you want me to write something, too. What does everyone think I am? A enchanter that just magics the words onto the paper? Heavens, I wouldn't be surprised if my fingers all fell off from overworking them." Mo could tell that he was pleased with all the attention, just as he always was.

"So," he continued on in a more reasonable tone, "you want me to write something. What sort of something would this be?"

"Alvino wants to go back to our world, and obviously, he can't do that without your words to send him."

Fenoglio fixed him with keen eyes. "I thought everyone had settled down and decided what world they wanted to live in. Well, I guess that's a young boy for you. Of course, I can write the words, but I need to know who all is going and where they want to end up. And, I'm guessing they want words to bring them back, too."

Mo nodded. "That would be helpful. Yes, well, Alvino is going, Meggie…"

"Meggie!" Fenoglio sat up straight in his chair. "I haven't seen that girl in far too long. I think she's avoiding me. You'd think she might come over to see an old friend every once in a while. How old is she now?"

Mo smiled slightly. "Twenty-five."

Fenoglio covered his eyes with a hand. "Twenty-five! Goodness, Mortimer, don't make me feel older than I am. Heavens, you're telling me that little girl I spent hours locked up with in Capricorn's village is twenty-five. Well, I suppose she's very busy and doesn't have much time to go visiting old writers, but I would like to see her again. But that's beside the point – you were telling me who's going."

"Um, yes," Mo thought for a second, "Meggie, Elinor, Darius, and Miranda."

Fenoglio stared at him. "I must have heard you wrong," he said slowly. "Did you just say Miranda? She's Dustfinger's daughter, isn't she?"

Mo nodded. "Yes, that's right."

Fenoglio continued to stare at him. "So, has Dustfinger died or just gone crazy?" He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "This is all a joke, isn't it? You're sitting there asking me to believe that Dustfinger is going to let his daughter go to a world he hates and he's going to let me write the words that send her there. My dear Mortimer, I may be getting old, but I'm not that old!"

"Strange as it sounds, it's actually true," Mo said, shrugging. "It's not a joke, I assure you."

Fenoglio looked a little less suspicious, but he still shook his head. "Well, I guess if you say so. But I'd rather not have Dustfinger murdering me after I write these words, not that he can dislike me any more than he already does."

"I assure you, everything has been talked over," Mo replied. "They're just staying a few weeks at Elinor's house which is where they would like to be read to."

Fenoglio tapped his pen on the paper thoughtfully, and Mo could tell that he was already creating the right words. "I've never seen the place, which could be problematic, but I'll do my best. I'll get to it as soon as I can, though I must finish with Violente's poems first, so I might not get around to it until tomorrow afternoon. But I should have it done the day after tomorrow. Meet me by the bent aspen at the river – you know the place I mean – that morning, and I'll have words for you, both to send them there and to bring them back."

Mo stood. "Thank you, Signor Fenoglio. We'll see you then."

~o~o~

Mo returned to find Resa and Meggie searching through all the clothes in the house. Medieval garments lay draped over the beds, and the two women were busy going through them and talking in concerned tones. After observing his wife and daughter for a few moments, Mo got their attention. "What's all this? You look like you're packing for a two-month vacation."

Resa frowned at the clothes. "They can't go back in these things. We don't have any modern clothes at all, except for the dress I came in, which Meggie can wear, and the clothes that you came in, which are too big for Alvino or Darius."

"Just buy some clothes when you get there," Mo said, shrugging. "Elinor brought money with her, didn't she? And I don't suppose anyone would have stolen the money from her house so you can buy things once you get there. If Meggie's the only one in normal clothes, she can go to the nearest town and get some things for everyone else."

Resa put her arm around Meggie's shoulders. "Just listen to him. Aren't you glad that at least one of your parents has some common sense? Yes, of course that's what you can do. I don't know why I didn't think of it myself."

Mo put his arms around both of them. "Because you're all worked up and not thinking clearly. Just calm down – it's only an easy, little trip. In fact, why don't you go lie down – you look exhausted."

Resa rubbed a hand across her eyes wearily. "I suppose you're right, and I suppose I am going worked up over nothing. You can handle packing by yourself, can't you, Meggie?"

After Resa had left, Meggie looked at Mo. "I haven't seen her like this in a while. She really is worried, isn't she?"

Mo picked up an armful of clothes and put them back in the chest. "Oh, she'll be all right. She just needs a little sleep, that's all."

Meggie helped him carry the rest of the clothes back to their places. "So, what did Fenoglio have to say? When are we going?"

"Day after tomorrow," Mo answered, "if he can find the time, which I'm sure he will. He was delighted to help out, as you can well imagine, though it took me a while to convince him that it wasn't a joke after I told him Miranda was going. You ought to visit him sometime – he'd enjoy that, I'm sure."

Meggie sat down on the bed and pushed some loose strands of hair back from her face. "Well, I guess that about does it. There's really not much to take except clothes which it appears we will be buying there. I wonder if it's changed at all, the other world, I mean, or if it's just the same as I remember it. I don't actually think about it that much, but I dream about it sometimes. That's only natural, I suppose. Do you think about it much?"

"Quite often," said Mo, "but I doubt that I shall ever go back."

~o~o~

The greatly anticipated day dawned gloriously. The group set out for the meeting place by the river under a golden sun with a brisk wind tugging at their hair. Alvino skipped along ahead of them, humming under his breath.

When they passed the farm house on the hill, Miranda and Roxane were waiting at the gate, although there were no signs of Dustfinger anywhere. Miranda and Alvino ran ahead of the group in a race to see who could reach the river bank first.

"She's so excited," Roxane said as she watched her daughter dash off into the distance, "but she's been very quiet for the last few days. She knows her father isn't very pleased about the whole affair."

Resa glanced quickly into Roxane's stern face. "Is he all right?"

Roxane shrugged. "He'll be fine, I suppose, but he does not even love fire more than Miranda."

Fenoglio had not yet arrived, when they came to the bent aspen. Miranda and Alvino had taken off their shoes and were in the water, splashing each other and laughing. Elinor frowned at the sight of the mess they were making of their clothes, but when she went to scold them for it, Mo just put a hand on her shoulder. "Let them play," he said. "Would you rather they were tugging on your clothes wanting to know how soon Fenoglio will get here?"

"Which I suppose will be a while," Elinor answered, somewhat huffily.

However, barely ten minutes had passed when Fenoglio rode up on a brown horse. With Mo's help, he dismounted stiffly, and, grumbling something about old age, made his way over to the bank. Roxane had already called the children, and everyone stood around as Fenoglio took two pieces of paper from his bag.

"This should do it," he said, handing one of the papers to Mo and the other to Meggie. "Words to send you there and bring you back. Heavens, Meggie, you're father wasn't joking when he said you were all grown up."

Mo scanned the paper quickly, as Fenoglio talked to Meggie. Yes, the writer had done it once again. Already, he could feel the words in his mouth, taste them on his tongue. It had been many years since he had used the power of his voice, but he knew as he looked at those words, that his voice was every bit as potent as it had been.

He caught the tail end of what Fenoglio was saying to Meggie. "I don't suppose you'll be going anywhere near that town where I used to live, will you? I did leave in rather a rush, and I'm afraid I didn't have time to grab my notebooks before Basta dragged me off. I'd been scribbling ideas down in them for years, and would be eternally grateful if you could bring them back with you. There are two of them in my writing desk."

"Of course," Meggie said.

Mo looked up from the paper as Fenoglio finished speaking. "Is everyone ready?"

Meggie, Elinor, Darius, Miranda, and Alvino picked up their bags and moved together, watching Mo expectantly as he lifted the paper. _Although many years had passed, the house still stood by the lake, full of the books that called out to their owners and lured them back into a world they had not seen for twelve years,_ he read. The words flowed over his tongue like fresh water, each new letter tasting as sweet as honey. He felt the magic on his skin as strongly as a spring rain, but all too soon there were no more words to read, and he fell silent.

He heard Roxane gasp, and, looking up, he saw that his voice had once again done its work. The five were gone, as if they had never been there. Roxane and Doria were staring in shock at the place where the group had been standing, and Mo saw the fear in their eyes. He remembered all too well how terrible it was to know that a wife or daughter was gone, whisked away into a completely different world. Resa was gazing blankly at the grass, and he could guess all too well what was going through her mind. And as he himself looked at the now unoccupied bank, he felt the worry and doubt that he had known was there. He stared at the paper in his hand – once again he had fallen into the trap that those luring words spun. His children were gone, and he felt panic rise up in his throat.

Only Fenoglio did not seem upset. "Amazing," he said, "truly amazing. My words and your voice, Mortimer, have once again worked their magic, even after all these years. I wonder if I wrote the right words and you read them, if you could take the ache out of these old bones."

"I think we both remember what happens when people mess around with age, immortality, and Death, Fenoglio," Mo answered quietly. "My voice will be the death of us all."

Fenoglio looked around at the solemn group and then clapped Mo on the back. "Oh for heaven's sake, there's nothing to worry about. I know my trade and you know yours well enough to keep anything bad from happening. Goodness, you all look like you're at a funeral. Your voice is a gift, Mortimer, just like my writing pen, and you shouldn't be afraid or ashamed of it."

Mo heaved a deep sigh. "Any gift can be misused. I suppose, it's done now and there's no way to bring them back, even if we wanted to."

The way back was so quiet that Mo was sure everyone could hear his heart pounding. It was as if all the worry that he should have been feeling for the last few days had finally caught up with him. He pictured Elinor's house in his mind, filled with books and surrounded by flower gardens. He tried to picture Alvino and Miranda playing in that lawn, and Elinor scolding them for the noise they were making, but somehow the pictures would not come. All he could see was darkness, dreadful darkness that crushed down on his spirit. His voice had been the cause of too many terrible things to rest at peace. Resa put her arm around his waist and leaned against him wearily as they slowly trudged home.

Roxane did not speak a single word all the way, and when they reached her house, she turned and went through the gate silently. Mo briefly thought he saw the figure of a man outlined in sparks standing at the black window, but when he looked again, nothing was there.

That night as he lay unable to sleep in his bed, he stared up at the ceiling and saw words written there, dancing before his eyes, taunting him. _We tricked you again,_ they laughed. _Haven't you learned by now not to trust us? But you took the bait once more and now your daughter and son are gone. Gone!_

He closed his eyes and shivered. Perhaps it was only a dream, a dream that morning light would shove away. But as he lay there in the darkness, he could only think that this dream would become a nightmare long before he ever saw the light.


	6. Black Dreams

Chapter 6: Black Dreams

Three days had passed since Miranda, Meggie, Alvino, Darius, and Elinor had left. Had it really only been three days? Three days and two nights during which Dustfinger felt as if his heart was slowly being torn to shreds.

_It's not that bad,_ he kept telling himself again and again. _What is it that they say? Making a mountain out of a molehill? Dustfinger, you're acting as if she'd died, but of course she'll be fine. She's probably even enjoying it._

He lit a small fire in the palm of his hand and watched the flame waver back and forth. There was a darkness in his heart, a darkness that he did not understand, something more than just the doubtful worries of a father. He was afraid, just terribly afraid, without anything to direct his fear at or anything to do about it. The body he had brought back from Death's realm did not need nearly as much food or sleep as his old body had, but even his new body was becoming weary after three days of little food and even less sleep. The nights were even worse than the days, for he just lay awake in the darkness and felt the darkness in his own soul consume him.

"You're doing it again," Roxane said quietly from where she was sitting on their bed, repairing a torn dress hem. The sun had just set, and she was sewing by the light of two candles on her bedside table. Dustfinger had not realized that he was making the candle flames leap up and die back down in answer to the thoughts he was directing at the fire in his hands. Extinguishing it in his clothes, he paced restlessly over to the window.

"Please, sit down and rest." Roxane looked at him with concern. "You're going to make yourself ill. It's only eleven more days and then she'll be back."

Dustfinger sat down beside her, resisting the urge to run his fingers through the candle flames. How many times had she said that in the last three days? At first, he had almost been angry with her – how could she even think of resting when heaven knew what might be happening to their daughter? But he knew she couldn't understand his worry. After all, every time she closed her eyes, she didn't see Miranda being run over by one of those hulking cars or being electrocuted by one of those deadly wires that seemed to control most everything in that other world, from light to warmth. Pushing his hair back from his forehead, he lay back against his pillow and tried to relax.

Soon Roxane set aside the dress and blew out her candles. Another endless night had begun, and Dustfinger wondered if he would go crazy before the morning light came. It was not unusual for him to go a night or two without sleeping now with this body, but usually he didn't mind just lying there awake, thinking and enjoying the darkness and silence. But this night as Roxane's breathing soon became steady and light, he wished he could fall asleep so effortlessly as well. But he couldn't, so he just lay awake, staring up at the blackness. He tried lighting a flame that hovered above his breast and dimly lit the room with a pale glow, but for once he could find no comfort in fire. He tried putting his arms around Roxane and breathing in the smell of her perfumed hair, but even when he kissed her peaceful face, he could not rest. So, he just lay there and suffered.

He gave a sudden jolt and realized that he had been asleep a second before. There was moonlight coming in the window now, casting a white square on the bed. Roxane had moved in her sleep and was now lying against him with her head on his chest and one arm around his neck. Closing his eyes, he tried to remember. He had been dreaming – he was sure of it – but the memory of it was clouded and would not take shape.

It came back to him in a vivid flash that almost took his breath away. Yes, he remembered it now, the dream, his black, black dream. And he remembered the last time he had dreamed it, over twelve years ago in the darkness of a mine beneath Mount Adder… Terror clutched at him as sudden realization dawned on him. And just as suddenly and terribly, he realized what he had to do.

He lifted Roxane's head as gently as he could and slid from under her, but he was not quite gentle enough. She murmured his name and opened her eyes as he set her back down on the pillow. "Where are you going?" she asked, her voice thick with sleep.

He stroked the hair back from her face. "I'm just going out for a little while. Don't worry – I'll be back before the morning."

She touched his face. "You look so tired. Please, don't go."

"I must," he answered. He didn't want to tell her about his dream or about what he was planning, because he knew if he thought about it too long, his heart would fail him and he wouldn't go through with it. She didn't need to worry just now, certainly not about such things as were going through his mind. So he began to hum quietly, the same tune that he hummed to the fire elves when he had needed to steal their honey. He let the fire within him rise to his skin so that his hands grew pleasantly warm, and slowly stroked her face until the drowsy warmth and his humming sent her back to sleep. Then he rose silently and left the house.

The moon was not full, but it cast plenty of light for him to see by as he slipped into the trees. He had often roamed the land by night and knew how to find his way even without the soft, white moonbeams. But this night he took no notice of the beauty of his surroundings as he usually would have, for tonight he had something he needed to do.

"You're a fool, Dustfinger," he whispered to himself. "Who but you wanders around at this time of night? The man you need to talk to will have gone to sleep ages ago."

However, he was somehow not surprised when he saw the flickering light ahead of him. Soon, he came through the trees and saw the cottage with firelight pouring out of the kitchen window. For a moment, he hesitated, quailing at the thought of why he had come. _You've stood outside this man's house in the darkness too many times,_ he thought_,_ _and every time it seems to break your heart._ He was here again for a reason not so unlike the reason he had come last time in another life, but at the same time, it couldn't have been more different. _At least it's not raining tonight like it was that time,_ he thought as he stepped up to the window.

Silvertongue was sitting at his table, drinking something hot from a wooden cup. He looked almost as tired as Dustfinger felt, and worried, too. Resa was standing by the fireplace with her back to the window, taking a pot off the grating. Dustfinger made the fire leap up suddenly in the hearth, and both Silvertongue and Resa jumped in surprise. Immediately, they both looked to the window, knowing who must be standing outside their house.

It was Resa who opened the door for him. He stepped into the light, still thinking about turning back, but knowing it was no use. "May I come in?" he asked.

Resa nodded, watching his face anxiously. Her own face was drawn, and he wondered if she was as worried about her children as he was about his daughter. Silvertongue was watching him, too, surprise, apprehension, and weariness etched on his face. Slowly, Dustfinger sat down at the table across from him.

"Would you like something to drink?" Resa was holding another cup of steaming tea in her hand.

"Yes," he answered quietly. It tasted strongly of honey; Resa had always liked sweet drinks. She sat down at the end of the table, between himself and Silvertongue as he took a few sips, very aware of both their questioning gazes. Finally, he spoke, "Well, I take it you're as worried about the little adventure our children have decided to go off on as I am, seeing as you're both still up in the middle of the night."

Resa looked at Silvertongue as if to get his permission before she answered. "It hasn't been too bad, not until tonight. Mo just had a bad dream, and there's nothing like a bright fire and a warm drink to chase away nightmares."

Dustfinger took a long sip from his cup without blowing on it and swirled the hot liquid around his mouth as he processed the information he had just received. "A dream, yes, that's odd, isn't it?" he murmured to himself. "I don't suppose it was about Meggie and Alvino, was it?"

Silvertongue answered him this time. "Yes, it was actually, but there's nothing odd in that, is there?" He gave Dustfinger a look that was half curiosity and half annoyance. "Do you have anything to tell us or are you just here to drown your worries in Resa's tea?"

Dustfinger did not let the obvious petulance in Silvertongue's voice hurry him. He took his time finding the words to answer. "Back in your world, I used to have dreams, black dreams – sometimes I'd wake trembling, and it was hours before I could shake the dreams from me. Perhaps they were nothing, just the fears of a despairing man, but there were some so vivid that I remember them to this day. I don't think I have any special powers, that I can dream the future or anything, but sometimes I wondered if dreams are taken too lightly all the same.

"Then there was that night in the mine, before the battle, when I dreamed of Farid's death. I think we all remember perfectly well what came of that when I chose to ignore it. And that was before…before I'd died. Now, I can do things, see things, that I could have never imagined. If I could dream a death before it happened then, I don't know what I'm capable of now. But what I do know is this: I had a dream this night, too. It was the same dream I had in the mine, but this one was about Miranda."

He stopped talking, and the silence seemed to crush in on him from every side. Finally, it was so oppressive that he went on. "I thought their going was a bad idea in the first place, but now I'm sure of it. Something's gone wrong. I learned my lesson the first time; I don't particularly want to die again right away, and I certainly won't let my daughter die."

Through his speech, he saw Resa growing pale, but Silvertongue just creased his brows as he ended. "Listen, Dustfinger," he said cautiously, "I don't disbelieve you, and I agree that ignoring warning signs is not a good idea. I've just had a nightmare about Meggie and Alvino myself, so I know what you must be feeling, but let's just think about this. It's only natural that you should be worried about your daughter going to a place where you had such a miserable time, but, really, what could possibly happen? Elinor's not going to let them get hit by a truck. And there's no one there anymore who would want to hurt them. Capricorn, Mortola, Basta – they're all dead."

"What about Orpheus?" Dustfinger let his words sink in for a minute before he went on. "You know as well as I do that he got away. Just because no one's heard of him in twelve years doesn't mean he's not alive. Don't think he's forgotten us, Silvertongue, either of us, not the bookbinder who destroyed his grand plans or the fire-eater who sent his dreams up in smoke."

Sudden doubt filled Silvertongue's eyes and when he spoke, he tried to make his voice sound calm, but failed. Dustfinger heard the shakiness in it. "That's nonsense. He can't do anything without words, and we have the only copy of _Inkheart_ left. And he's in this world, not that one. There's nothing he can do to them or us."

Dustfinger leaned across the table and pressed his hand to Silvertongue's chest above his beating heart and let the other man see the black despair in his own soul. He saw the memory in Silvertongue's eyes and heard his sharp intake of breath. When he spoke, he didn't do it aloud, but let Silvertongue read what was written on his heart. _Orpheus wrote words for you once too,_ he whispered into his soul_, black words to torture you. I saw them when Resa and I rescued you, and I remember how they looked. This despair in my heart, Silvertongue, it is the same. I didn't recognize it until tonight, but I'm sure the same man who tortured you has put these thoughts here to torture me. Is it not so?_

There was desperation in Silvertongue's face now, a longing not to have to believe the words he was hearing. Dustfinger had no desire to hurt him further, but he knew what he had to say. "You say he is in this world," he said aloud, "and that he needs words. Well, what of it? He could have read himself back – in fact, I imagine he did long ago. He had nothing left here – you and I made sure of that – nothing but revenge.

"You say we have the only copy of the book left. How do you know that, Silvertongue? Your world is a big place, so how do you know that another copy isn't hiding somewhere in it? And you forget that books are much easier to make in your world than in this one. We don't have any guarantee that he can't get a copy. And besides, I've wondered sometimes if it's all one big story anyway, this world and that one, and if it really matters what book the words come from."

Silvertongue's face was as white as the paper in the books he bound and his voice was hoarse. "If what you're saying is true, what does it matter? How can we help them?"

For a moment, Dustfinger thought he had gone mute – the words would not force their way out of his mouth. But somehow he said them, even if he hated every one of them. "That's why I'm here. I have to go to them. You have to read me there, Silvertongue."

They couldn't have stared at him with more shock if he had just announced that he was growing a third arm. He glared back at them. "Why are you looking at me like that? Do you think I don't love my daughter enough to protect her, even if it means going back there? For heaven's sake, how terrible a person do you think I am? I chose to ignore the dream about Farid because I was a fool and a coward, but I won't sacrifice my daughter to the same mistake. Read to me, Silvertongue!"

Silvertongue breathed a deep sigh. "If that's what you want… But I'm coming, too."

"Oh yes?" Dustfinger laughed bitterly. "And who, pray, is going to read you there?"

Determination spread itself across Silvertongue's face. "I can read myself there. Everyone else has done it: Meggie, Orpheus, if you're correct, even Darius. Nothing against Darius, but I think if he can do it, I certainly can."

Dustfinger just shook his head. "No, you're staying here. What if something else happens and a reader is needed here? I'm going alone."

Silvertongue's hand caught his arm in a firm grip. "You're forgetting that I have children there, too. You can't march in here and lecture me about protecting children and then refuse to let me go. I love my Meggie and Alvino as much as you love Miranda. I'm not staying."

Dustfinger was about to answer back when Resa leaned between them and pushed them apart. "Stop! Listen to me, arguing isn't going to help our children and friends. You're both right."

She turned to Silvertongue and gently squeezed his hand. "Dustfinger's right in that you can't go. You've never read yourself into anything, and there's no point in making it more complicated than necessary. I think it's best that at least one reader remains behind, in case of emergencies. What if Fenoglio needs to write something and send it there to save them after you're gone? We need a reader here."

She turned to Dustfinger, and he felt the pressure of her hand as she squeezed his. "And Mo's right in that you can't expect us to sit here while our son and daughter may be in danger. The solution: I'll go."

Dustfinger fought back the temptation to say yes, but he knew what had to be done. "No," he answered her, "you can't come either. I understand you're position, but I can't let you come with me, not you, not your husband, or anyone else. I have to do this alone."

Immediately, he saw in her eyes the tenacity that he had always admired in her. "Why? I can already see that this hurting you. I can help you and, believe me, I will. We've always helped each other, haven't we? And how exactly are you going to stop me? I'm not going to let you do this all alone."

He forestalled any further arguments by putting his hand over her mouth. "Goodness, sometimes I wish you were still mute. Now you listen to me, I know it's difficult for you to hear, but I can't allow you to come. I don't do things for no reason, and I assure you, Resa, I have a very good reason for going alone. Trust me! If you love your son and daughter, if you love me, trust me."

Resa reached up slowly and took his hand off her mouth. There were tears in her eyes. "I trust you," she whispered.

Dustfinger looked from her to Silvertongue who was sitting silently, his face unhappy, but resigned. "Then that's settled. Tomorrow, you and I can go over to the writer's house, Silvertongue, and – I can't believe I'm saying this – he can write something to send me there and bring me back. I swear to you both, I won't let anything happen to your children anymore than I'll let anything happen to Miranda. I'll bring them all back safe."

There was no more to say. He set the empty cup down on the table, and slowly made his way to the door. His legs felt weak, as if he had been running for a long time or wading through deep water. When he stepped outside again, the darkness did not seem friendly, but threatening as if every shadow wanted to remind him of the black pit in his own spirit.

A quiet sound behind him made him turn. Resa had followed him out the door, and when she knew that he had seen her, she came to stand beside him, close enough that he could feel her trembling. "Why alone?" she asked, her voice faint.

It had become overcast while he spoke to Silvertongue, and when he looked up, he could no longer see the moon. Nothing but blackness. "I thought you said you were going to trust me on this," he murmured back. "It's not a burden you need to bear." He touched her hair lightly and found a feather in the dark gold locks. "You're transforming," he said.

A shudder ran through her. "Yes, Mo will be out in a minute to watch over me though. It doesn't hurt now as much as it used to or maybe I'm just used to it." She gave him a small smile. "You're sure you couldn't use a swift's wings when you go to find them?"

He let a smile twist his own lips. "Oh, I'm sure I could, but I've made up my mind, and you know how I dislike changing it."

The door behind them opened again, and Silvertongue stepped into the night. Dustfinger nodded, first to him and then to Resa. "I'll be on my way home, then. See you tomorrow, Silvertongue." He turned and walked away quickly, even though he knew that in the darkness they could not see the bitter tears on his cheeks.


	7. One Small Request

Chapter 7: One Small Request

The armorers across the street were at it again. Their loud, ringing blows rebounded off every stone in the small room. "For heaven's sake, don't they know that some people might still be asleep," Fenoglio grumbled to himself as he pressed his pillow over his ears. "Ugh, I suppose I have only myself to blame, but why couldn't I have decided to put the armorers on the other end of town and the weavers over on this street?"

He lifted his head and squinted at the bright sunlight coming in through his window. "Goodness, maybe it's later than I thought," he exclaimed, swinging his legs rather stiffly out of bed. "What time is it, Rosenquartz?"

The glass man stopped stirring the ink long enough to glare at him. "How should I know? Do I look like a clock to you?"

Fenoglio threw the closest thing he could at Rosenquartz, which happened to be a quill pen from his bedside table.

Rosenquartz easily ducked the badly aimed missile, but gave Fenoglio an irate look all the same. "Hey, what was that for? Do you want to kill me?"

Fenoglio sat on the edge of his bed, pulling on his boots. "My dear Rosenquartz, if you can be killed by a quill pen, then I can only say that you are a very pathetic excuse for a glass man and it's high time I found someone else to stir my ink."

Rosenquartz turned his back on Fenoglio, making a great show of being offended. Fenoglio chose to ignore him and stood up with a groan. Yes, it certainly was inconvenient sometimes to live in a world where clocks were not readily available, but he had become proficient at telling time the way most everyone did: by looking at the position of the sun. He stuck his head out the window and guessed that it was probably around nine o' clock. "Goodness, it is late," he muttered, withdrawing his head. "I must be getting old." He yawned. "At least, I've got a relatively easy day today, no poems for Violente, the Black Prince, or anyone else. Only that stained book to copy out for Balbalus. Hey, Rosenquartz, where's that letter from the castle with the instructions?"

The glass man did not answer and kept on moodily stirring the ink with his back to Fenoglio. "Oh, fine, so we're not talking, are we?" Fenoglio said, glowering at the small, pink back. "Right, I'll find it myself."

However, he had no time to either scold Rosenquartz anymore or look for the letter, for at that moment there was a knock on the door downstairs. Fenoglio scratched his head in puzzlement. "Whoever could that be?" he said out loud, mostly to annoy Rosenquartz who disliked it when Fenoglio talked to himself. "Minerva doesn't have visitors very often, and I don't think there was anyone I was supposed to meet, not this early anyway."

Downstairs, he heard the door open, and a voice drifted upstairs, a voice he knew very well, even though he had not heard it many times. "Is Fenoglio here?"

Fenoglio ran to the window and stuck his head out again, straining to see down into the yard. "Heavens, whatever is Dustfinger doing here? He'd rather kill himself than have to talk to me."

However, he was not given much time to ponder this as another knock sounded on the door below. This time it was Minerva's surprised voice that reached him. "Bluejay! Please come in. What can I do for you?"

Fenoglio leaned even further out. "And Mortimer, too? I wonder what's going on."

"Maybe they've come to yell at you for sending their children to that other world," Rosenquartz snorted, momentarily forgetting that he wasn't talking to Fenoglio.

Fenoglio drew his head back in the window and stared thoughtfully at the glass man. "Do you think so? They'd better not. After all, both of them did agree to it, and, for heaven's sake, it was Mortimer who read them there." He grabbed his cloak from the bedside table and went out onto the stairwell, thinking rather worriedly about what Rosenquartz had said.

Minerva was half way up the stairs, but when she saw him coming down, she stopped. "Two visitors for you, Inkweaver," she said. "The Bluejay and the Fire-Dancer. They're in the main room waiting for you."

"Thank you, Minerva," Fenoglio said, peering at the closed door that led into the main room of the house. "Did they say what they wanted?"

Minerva just shook her head, and, taking a deep breath, Fenoglio went to face his visitors. They didn't yell at him, but all the same, neither of them looked particularly happy. Mortimer was fidgeting nervously with the hem of his black tunic, and Dustfinger was staring vacantly at a blank wall. Both looked as if they had experienced a particularly bad night. When Fenoglio came in, they looked up at him. Mortimer just looked worried, but Dustfinger shot him the distasteful look that Fenoglio had been expecting. He disregarded it, however – it still gave him a satisfied pride to see one of the main characters from his book at such close range – and sat down in his chair. Mortimer sat on another chair, but Dustfinger remained standing, his arms folded across his chest and one foot on the stone slab of the hearth.

Fenoglio cleared his throat slowly before speaking. "So, why do I have the honor of your visit? Everything's going all right, I hope."

Mortimer looked at his companion as if waiting for him to speak, but when Dustfinger only continued glowering at the hearth, he began. "I'm sorry, Signor Fenoglio, as I know you must be terribly busy, but there's something else we need written, and it's very important."

Fenoglio tapped his fingers on the chair arm. The obvious anxiety of his visitors was getting to him. "Yes, well, I guess if you had to come anytime, now is as good as ever. I've actually got some time to spare currently."

Mortimer nodded. "Well, then if you don't mind, we would appreciate it…"

"Enough with the formalities," Dustfinger interrupted, impatience pervading his husky voice. "He wrote them there, so I think he can help fix this mess. Miranda's in danger, and I need to go after them to rescue her. You have to write me after them, send me there."

It was a rare occasion for Fenoglio the Inkweaver to be lost for words, but this was one such occasion. All he could do was stare at his creation in confusion which only served to irritate Dustfinger further.

"Why is everyone finding it so hard to believe that I'm willing to do anything to save my daughter? Does everyone really think I'm that bad a person? So, writer, can you do it or not?"

Fenoglio found his voice again, although for a few seconds it didn't seem to want to function properly. "Y…yes," he stammered, "of course, I can do it. Very easy. Only have to change a few of the words from the original piece that sent them. I can have it done by two this afternoon, that and words to bring you back."

Dustfinger sighed deeply as if both pleased and distressed by the answer. "Just do it as fast as you can and be done with it," he said. "I'll meet you this afternoon in the same place that you met Silvertongue four days ago." He disappeared through the door, as if he couldn't get out of the house fast enough.

Mortimer took a longer time leaving. He sat motionless for a few seconds, his eyes with a faraway look in them, but then he slowly rose. "Thank you, Fenoglio," he said. "Really, I can't thank you enough."

Fenoglio watched his face. "Well, I can only hope that my words help. They aren't in too much trouble, are they?"

Rubbing a hand across his brow, Mortimer sighed. "We don't really know much except that we think Orpheus is behind it. I don't suppose you've forgotten him. But before I go, there's one small request that I need to ask you about…"

~o~o~

Roxane was in the garden, tending to the red anemones when Dustfinger returned to the small cottage. As he opened the gate, he saw her stiffen slightly, but she didn't turn around. He could sense the cold resentment radiating from her back, and he was almost happy that she did not turn to greet him because he knew her eyes would be cold, too.

He stood for a minute on his threshold, staring at her black tresses and trying to make up his mind whether he should talk to her or just go in and get ready for his trip. However, the decision was made for him when Roxane stood slowly, wiped some soil onto her plain gown, and turned around. Her eyes immediately met his, and he was torn once again between his wife and daughter, but he knew which one needed him more.

"You're back sooner than I thought you'd be." How cold Roxane could make her voice. He could hardly believe it was the same voice that sang so warmly of fire and love. Her bitterness was almost worse than his fear, but he had not expected her to understand.

"There wasn't much to say," he answered in a low voice. "I'm to go this afternoon."

He made for the door, but Roxane blocked his way. "How long will you be gone this time? Two weeks? Three months? Another ten years? My hair will be gray by then, and I will have spent more time a widow than a wife."

"I'm not going to be trapped again. I'll only be there as long as it takes to rescue Miranda. I have words to send me back this time."

"Rescue her from what? Your fears? How do you know this isn't all in your imagination?"

"You have to trust me on this," he answered desperately. "You didn't know Orpheus, and you don't know what he is capable of. I'm not imagining things."

He tried to squeeze past her into the house, but she caught him by the front of his tunic and held him close. Her hands quivered. "A woman shouldn't have to lose the man she loves more than once, but you have been dead to me twice already. Do not make me mourn you a third time."

A sob escaped her lips as she laid her forehead on his chest and trembled in his arms. "Oh, Dustfinger, I can't lose you again. It will kill me this time."

Helplessly, he squeezed her tighter. Tipping her chin back, he wiped the tears away, but more instantly replaced them. "No, Roxane," he told her, "I promise you won't lose me again. And I tell you this, I won't make you watch another daughter die, either." Pulling away from her, he pressed his hand over his heart and felt the strange powers he now possessed pulsing within him. He drew his hand away, and a flame danced in his palm. Slowly, it waxed and waned along with the beating of his heart. He put his hand over Roxane's, and when he drew away again, the flame was in her hand. She stared at it, and its pure light reflected in her eyes.

"Perhaps they're right when they say my heart is made of fire," Dustfinger whispered, and she looked up at him. "As long as the flame burns, you'll know my heart is still beating. Keep it with you, and don't despair."

She stared at the flame again and her lips moved as if she wanted to speak, but could not find the right words. In the end, she just looked back into his eyes, and he saw the gratefulness there. This time, when he moved to go into the house, she stood to one side and let him pass.

He possessed few things, but what he did have, he kept in a wooden chest by his bed. Opening it, he pushed aside two of the four outfits he owned. He was wearing his red and black fire-eater's doublet and pants, by far his most comfortable attire. The fourth outfit he had not touched for over twelve years, but for some reason he had kept it. Perhaps something deep inside him had known that he would need it again. He drew it out and laid it over his bed, staring at the familiar and yet strange garments that he would have to don once more.

He put them on, the rough pants, the drab button-up shirt, and the long coat that seemed so heavy on his shoulders. It was as if they bore all the weight of the bad memories he had collected while wearing them. Immediately, he looked back at the discarded fire-eater garments and thought about putting them back on, but instead he put them in the chest with a sigh. It would not do to be more conspicuous than he already would be. He smoothed out the crumpled coat absentmindedly as he thought about the light, soft black and red fabric of his doublet, and his hand felt something hard in the breast pocket. Reaching in, his fingers closed over a familiar cardboard box, and for a second, a smile hovered over his lips. Well, he didn't need matches anymore, but still it felt good to have them there.

When he came out into the main room, Roxane was sitting at the table. She had transferred his life flame onto the tip of a candle and was watching it grow and fade, but she looked up when he entered, and for the first time since he had told her that morning that he was leaving, she smiled. "How funny those clothes look," she said in a voice that was no longer cold. "Is that what they always wear in the other world?"

Dustfinger took his backpack to the table and removed his torches from it. He probably wasn't going to be using them any time soon. "Yes, I guess so," he said in answer to Roxane. "At least, I hope they haven't changed fashions in the last twelve years. With the speed at which that world moves, though, I wouldn't be surprised."

Roxane touched the coat hesitantly as if anything that came from the other world could hurt her. "It doesn't look very comfortable."

He wrapped up a dozen potatoes in a cloth and deposited them in his pack. "No, it isn't. That's just one of the many things I never could understand about that world. Sometimes, they seem as if comfort is the only thing that matters, but at other times, they couldn't care less about comfort and are obsessed with looking good. Not that I look particularly good," he said, glancing down at himself wryly. "But, they've proven themselves, I guess."

He wrapped several loaves of bread which disappeared into the pack then pushed it against the wall. Glancing at the light coming through the window, he guessed it was close to noon. Good, two hours before he would meet the writer.

The worry had returned to Roxane's eyes, but the coldness was gone. They looked at each other awkwardly, and Dustfinger tried to think of something comforting to say, but all he came up with was, "Well, I guess Brianna will keep you company while I'm gone, and I'm sure Resa will visit you if you feel lonely."

He knew they weren't the right words, but Roxane didn't seem to mind. She put her arms around his waist and put her chin on his shoulder. "Come out to the garden," she murmured in his ear. "You have time to make fire dance for me, don't you? If I never see you again, I want to know that the last time I did see you, you were happy. Fire always makes you happy."

Together, they went out to the garden and Dustfinger made the fire dance until he forgot everything, even time. And when he turned his eyes from the fiery patterns he wove in the sky, there were three people, not one, watching him. Silvertongue and Resa had come through the gate and were standing with Roxane on the doorstep to the cottage. When he saw them, he let the fire fade back away into nothing, and the brief happiness he had felt faded with it. He nodded to Silvertongue, went inside to fetch his backpack, then joined Silvertongue, Resa, and Roxane on the road again. It was not far to the river, but no trip had ever seemed longer or harder to Dustfinger.


	8. A Change in Plans

Chapter 8: A Change in Plans

"Rosenquartz, where's the copy of the papers I wrote for Meggie and the others? I could have sworn I put them in the desk. Why is it that I can never find anything in this dratted room?" Fenoglio complained as he rifled through the numerous papers stacked on his desk.

The glass man, whose mood had not improved much while Fenoglio was downstairs, folded his small arms belligerently. "I stir the ink. I sprinkle the sand on your papers. I don't keep all your projects in order or clean up all your messes for you. And, believe me, you are not the neatest human I have ever worked for."

Fenoglio dumped a stack of papers on his bed and pushed aside several quill pens and empty inkwells. "You really are the most disagreeable glass man any writer could possibly have to put up with. Of course, I'm not neat! Who ever heard of a writer that was? I need those papers or Dustfinger will probably wring my neck."

Rosenquartz sat down on the edge of the table and let his legs swing. "That's your problem, not mine."

Fenoglio paused, glared daggers at the impertinent glass man, then snorted. "Fine! But I doubt you'll ever find another writer to work for who puts up with as much impudence as I do. Keep that in mind when I've been strangled by an extremely irate fire-eater!"

Pushing aside several more papers, he gave a sigh of relief. "Ah, here they are. It shouldn't take me too long to rewrite them to send Dustfinger to the same place they went and to bring him back. Goodness, I still don't know if it was all a dream or not. But that was one of the things I liked about him, I suppose: he did surprising, if sometimes rash, things. Readers like that, you know. They like characters who don't do what's expected of them. Well, it certainly takes a lot for a character to do something so startling as to have his own writer shocked."

As he spoke, he sat down at his desk, dipped his quill in the freshly stirred ink, and began writing on a blank piece of paper, glancing at the original regularly, and adding or subtracting a word or phrase here and there. Every once in a while he paused, searching for the exact words that would awake the magic. Finally, he wiped the excess ink off the quill and set it down as Rosenquartz sprinkled fine sand over the papers.

"Well, that should do it," he said to no one in particular. "I'll let that dry for a few minutes then be off. I don't know whether Dustfinger will actually turn up or not. Bravery wasn't one of the qualities that I endowed him with, but perhaps he's changed a bit. Anyway, I have to show up at least for Mortimer's sake, even if Dustfinger does back out on me."

Downstairs, Minerva was fixing lunch over the kitchen hearth. Fenoglio sniffed the smell of stew appreciatively as he walked in. "I'm going to be out for the afternoon, Minerva," he said, peering into the large cauldron. "However, I think I'll have to stick around for lunch. That smells wonderful."

Minerva tossed in a few herbs. "What did the Bluejay and the Fire-Dancer want? They looked very unhappy. There's not trouble, is there?"

"Not for you or Ombra, I should think," Fenoglio said, seating himself at the table. "No, everything will be perfectly all right in a few days."

Roughly an hour later, Fenoglio had mounted his horse with not two, but three papers carefully tucked in the saddle bag. Thirteen years had not made him any fonder of riding, and he was forced to slow to a walk after a few minutes of trotting that seemed to jolt every part of his body. "Ugh, I knew I shouldn't have had a second bowl of stew," he groaned to the horse as he slowed down. "But I have more than enough time to get to the river before two."

He checked the papers several times, then shook his head and sighed. "Just when you think everything is normal, something's got to stir it up again," he muttered to himself. "Why can't everyone just settle down and enjoy where they are for a change?"

He arrived first at the river, but was glad of this when he got his foot stuck in the stirrup while dismounting and nearly fell. Thankful that no one had been there to see his clumsiness, he took the precious papers from the saddle bag and settled himself on a fallen log to wait.

It was not long before he saw four figures on the road, coming his way. Fenoglio stood as soon as he saw them, and in a few minutes they were standing on the bank a few paces away. He could not help but notice that all four looked extremely unhappy, but they could hardly blame him for these troubles. And he was here to help fix those troubles, after all! So why was he feeling so guilty as if his words had caused the misery he saw before him?

He handed Mortimer the first two papers, and the bookbinder quickly glanced over the words and nodded. Resa stood beside him and looked at the papers for a longer time than her husband had, her lips moving slightly as she read. Dustfinger was dressed in the same attire as he had worn the first time Fenoglio had met him, and he appeared about as miserable as he had that day, too. When Fenoglio looked at him, he scowled back and turned away to face Roxane, who stood close beside him. He said something to her in a low voice that Fenoglio could not hear, and she closed her eyes with a look of pain.

Mortimer smoothed out the paper nervously with his hand as he glanced up. "Ready?" he asked quietly.

Dustfinger embraced Roxane as if he would never see her again, and Fenoglio felt that annoying pang of guilt again. _Don't be so stupid, Fenoglio,_ he told himself. _If your words work, he'll be seeing her again in just a few days, and your words always work! So stop worrying._ He looked on with admiration as the embrace turned into a passionate kiss. _They really are perfect together. Even Dustfinger's hair is the perfect shade of red to highlight Roxane's black locks. Fenoglio, you're an artist and you didn't even know it!_

Dustfinger tore himself away from Roxane with difficulty, and the tears on the minstrel woman's face were painfully obvious. With his face set in grim impassiveness, the Fire-Dancer stepped forward. Fenoglio handed him the third paper, the one that would bring him back when he had completed his task. Dustfinger tucked it in his coat, breathed a deep sigh of resignation, and nodded to Mortimer, who lifted the paper and began to read.

~o~o~

Dustfinger heard Silvertongue's voice as if from a distance, melodious like one of the Motley Folk instruments, but the sound of it sent shivers up his spine. He looked around, saw the beautiful, yellow sunlight washing over his world, the blue of the river, and the faces of those around him. And then, suddenly, so suddenly that he had no time to grasp what had happened, it was gone. He was standing on a gravel road lined with trees and all around him was a damp smell like a forest after a rain. The bright sunlight was replaced by a gray haze and he was alone. Alone. Alone in the other world. Again.

Panic clawed its way up his throat and he wanted to scream, but he was sure he had lost his voice. Everything was wrong, the smells, the sights, the very feeling of this world. This was what it was like to be in the wrong story. How could he have ever forgotten? In a sudden dreadful moment, he wondered if the last twelve and a half years had actually happened, or if it was all just a dream and he had never really escaped from this world at all.

There was a quiet sound behind him, not unlike someone shifting their feet in gravel and he spun around. Resa was standing a few paces away, a dazed look on her face as she stared blankly at the trees around her.

For a moment, all Dustfinger could do was gape at her in disbelief, his mind refusing to work properly. Unimaginable relief mixed itself was sudden fear and doubt. What had gone wrong?

She saw him, and he noted the relief that spread across her face. "Dustfinger! Are you all right?" she asked breathlessly, as if she had been running.

He found his voice, but all he could splutter out was, "Resa! What are you doing here?"

Taking a step towards her, he found that he was slightly dizzy, but he knew from experience that it would wear off quickly enough. He shook his head. "What went wrong?" he almost shouted. "You're not supposed to be here. Your husband will have a fit!"

Resa took his hands. "It's all right, just a change in plans," she said, sounding perfectly calm. "Mo read me here, the same as you."

He jerked his hands out of hers, still not comprehending her words. "No, I was supposed to go alone. How…?" his voice trailed off miserably.

Resa shook her head, and there was a look of something akin to pity on her beautiful face. "Oh Dustfinger, you should have known better than to think I'd let you come here all by yourself. Mo knew I'd go with you, so he told Fenoglio to write us both here. Obviously, it worked."

Dustfinger pushed his hair back in exasperation. "No, Resa, you have to go back right now. For heaven's sake, didn't you say you trusted me with this? You're going back, right this instant!"

"And how exactly will I do that?" Resa countered. "I don't see any readers around who will do it for me. The only readers we know of here are Meggie and Darius, so I can go back when we find them, just as planned."

"Oh, it's that simple, is it?" Dustfinger felt his panic being replaced with anger which wasn't any more pleasant. "Meggie has words to send her group home, and I have words to send me home." He pulled out the paper and waved it at her. "But it doesn't say anything about you. So, how are you going to get home?"

Resa pulled another piece of paper out of her belt. "See, Fenoglio wrote another page. This one will send me back, as well as you. You needn't get all worked up about it. So, are we going to rescue our children or not?"

"No, _we're_ not going to do anything. _You_ are going to stay at Elinor's house while _I_ go and see about our children. I told you back in Inkworld you're not coming with me. You may have gone and made a fine mess of things, but that doesn't mean I'm changing any of my plans."

Resa shook her head at him sadly. "Why do you have to be this way? I'm here to help you, even if it's just to make your suffering less. Why don't you want my help?"

She looked at him pleadingly, and he lowered his gaze. He didn't want to tell her his reason for coming alone, because it shamed him to even admit it to himself, but he saw that there was going to be no other alternative. She wanted to come with him, and he knew her well enough to know she wasn't going to just stay behind.

"Resa," he said quietly, the anger leaving and being replaced by guilty memories he had tried his best to forget, "you have no idea how much I would love to have you come with me, but I can't…" He trailed off again and glanced up into her face. She was watching him with concern and trust, and the trust made him feel even guiltier.

"Yes," she prompted.

"Resa," he tried again, then looked up at the sky in despair, "oh, hang it all, Resa, you can't come because I'm a traitor and nothing's ever going to change that in me."

She looked at him in bewilderment, and he went on even though it hurt. "I betrayed your husband and daughter for a book, Resa, a stupid book. Betrayed them to an evil man who I knew would hurt them in exchange for a few words. Then, I betrayed your husband again to his worst enemy who I knew would most likely kill him in exchange for a daughter I barely knew. What will I be willing to trade for my daughter, the only daughter I've ever been able to watch grow up? I'd do anything for her, even betray you to Orpheus for her."

There was definitely pity now in Resa's eyes, and he both despised it and longed for it. "I should hope you would," she answered softly. "I should definitely hope that Miranda, your own daughter, means more to you than me."

Dustfinger felt the tears in his eyes, but he managed to force them back before they showed too clearly. "You don't understand. I couldn't bear it, not again. I don't want to be the traitor ever again, and I won't let my daughter see her father dishonored like that. I won't do it, Resa. I won't betray anyone again, and the best way to do that is if I don't have anyone to betray."

Resa put her hand on his arm. "What if that's the only way you can get Miranda back? How about this? I give you permission to trade me at will for anyone you like. See, you can't betray me if I've given you my permission to do it beforehand."

But he only shook his head. "You don't believe me," he whispered. "You don't think I'd do it, do you? You think I've changed, but I haven't. I'm the same man, the same man who handed over Silvertongue and Meggie to Capricorn, the same man who stole the book from Silvertongue, the same man who led Orpheus to the Bluejay."

"Yes," Resa said quietly, "the same man I loved all those years in Capricorn's village."

She gently stroked his cheek. "I know who you are, and nothing you can say is going to make me change my mind about going with you. Once before, you begged me to come with you. Well, now I'm coming, and you know me well enough to realize that."

The argument drained out of Dustfinger; he knew when he had lost a fight. "Yes, I know," he sighed. "All right, you can come."

She beamed, then looked around, and he took the time to take stock of his surroundings, something he had been too dazed to do before he saw Resa. Immediately, he knew where they were: right where Fenoglio's words had described. They were at the entrance to Elinor's long driveway. Resa evidently had recognized the gravel path, metal gate, and rows of trees, as well, and there was an odd look on her face as she glanced up the path towards the now-invisible house. He wondered briefly if she was feeling the way he had felt when he had finally got back into his right story, but he knew that was foolish. Resa loved Inkworld and saw it as home, even if this was her true world.

He started off down the path, and Resa followed close beside him. He turned his head away so that she would not be able to see his smile. Never would he have admitted it, but his heart was soaring and suddenly the task at hand did not seem quite so dark.


	9. On the Right Trail

Chapter 9: On the Right Trail

It was so strange to be back after twelve and a half years, so strange to be walking down the road she had walked down as a child so many times. The feeling of this world was different from Inkworld, and Resa was not sure whether she was happy or not. She had called this world home for a long time, but no more. Suddenly, she missed the sound of whispering trees and the sight of blue fairies flitting through green leaves. She had forgotten how dreary it could be here.

And, at the same time, a thrill of excitement and old memories ran through her. Even if she could no longer call this place home, it would always be a part of her and have a place in her heart. She felt both like laughing and crying.

It was very quiet. Evidently, it had been raining not long ago, and there were no sounds of insects or birds, for all the animals had taken shelter from the spring rains. The wind was almost non-existent, barely enough to rustle the trees' leaves. The only distinct sound was the crunch of gravel under Dustfinger's boots.

The fire-eater was walking at a fast pace, and she could tell he was nervous. She could hardly blame him for that though, for she knew better than anyone what this world meant to him. And, if he was correct, they did not have a pleasant task ahead of them. Who knew what would greet them when they reached Elinor's house? She quickened her pace to keep alongside him, glancing around at the trees lining the road. They seemed darker than she remembered them.

When at last the house came into view, Resa could not help but breath a sigh of relief. There it stood, looking run down, but so wonderfully familiar. The lawn, once trim and neat, was overgrown, and ivy had taken over the walls of the house itself, but it was still there, the house she had spent a good deal of her childhood in. The shutters were all drawn over the windows, so she could not tell if there were any lights on, but something told her just by looking at it, that it was empty.

She ran towards the house, up the steps, and pulled at the door. Unsurprisingly, it was locked. She knocked, but no one answered her. Dustfinger moved her gently aside and inserted a thin wire into the key hole. His clever fingers went to work, and when he gave the door a tug, it opened for him without any resistance.

Resa felt a wave of sadness sweep over her as they stepped into the abandoned house. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust, and cobwebs hung in tattered rags over the doorways. The precious books that had once been Elinor's pride and joy looked sadly untended, each wearing a coat of gray dust. Resa brushed a cobweb out of her face and felt a tear spring to her eye.

Dustfinger, however, took no notice of the disheveled appearance of the house, but studied the ground thoughtfully, then ran his hand over the door frame. "They were here, at least," he said quietly as if he were afraid to raise his voice. "The door's been opened – the cobwebs have been brushed away from the frame. And look," he pointed down. "There are footprints in the dust."

Resa had failed to notice the many prints in the thick powder. "Do you think they're here, then?" she asked hopefully. Maybe everything was going to be all right after all.

Dustfinger glanced up the stairs. "It doesn't look like anyone's here right now, but this is a big house. I'll look around up stairs, and you search this level. Shout if you find something."

Resa wandered through the rooms, calling out her friends' and family members' names as she went, but it became painfully obvious that no one was there. The footprints appeared in most rooms, and in many places that cobwebs had been damaged. Just as she remembered, books were piled everywhere, and she even found a few that had recently had the dust brushed from them. Overhead, sometimes she would hear the creak of boards as Dustfinger investigated the upstairs.

She went into the kitchen last and halted in surprise. Here, the dust and cobwebs had been swept away and five packs lay on the floor next to the table. At the sight of them, Resa felt relief surging through her.

"Dustfinger!" she called, and above she heard his steps going to the stairs. In a minute, he stood at the kitchen doorway.

Upon seeing the packs, he knelt by them and flicked them open. The few things that Meggie, Alvino, Miranda, Elinor, and Darius had taken with them were still in them. Resa caught his hand excitedly. "They've just gone out for a time, that's it," she laughed. "They'll come back here as soon as they're done, probably before nightfall."

The laughter faded on her lips as she looked into her companion's stern face. "Something's not right," he muttered as if to himself. He looked at her. "Obviously, they dumped all their packs in here as soon as they arrived, but they wouldn't leave them here, would they? By the first night, they would have settled into rooms and put their packs in there. But they've been in this world for four days. I don't think they've been in this house since the first day though. There's no sign that any of the beds have been slept in."

Resa felt the chill of fear returning. "Where do you think they are then?"

Dustfinger didn't answer, but glanced down at the packs instead. She knew what that meant: he didn't know any more than she did. For the first time, panic started to set in, and she wanted desperately to hear the sound of Meggie and Alvino's voices as they returned, but there was nothing but silence. She pressed her hand to her mouth, determined not to show her fear, but the sob still forced its way out. Dustfinger looked up, sighed, and put an arm around her shoulders. "We'll find them," he murmured in her ear, but she knew all too well how convincingly he could lie.

He steered her gently, but unwaveringly into the library and sat her down in the big, comfortable arm chair that Elinor had always sat in. He laid a book on her lap, then lightly stroked her hair as he said, "You just sit there, read, and calm down, all right? Don't worry."

She ran her hand over the cover of the book, a collection of fairy tales, and looked up into his inscrutable face. "What will you be doing?"

"Seeing about things," he answered evasively. "I'll be back in an hour or so. Till then, just rest and relax. Switching worlds is a tiring business – I should know."

She knew there was no use arguing with him, and now that she snuggled into the familiar, warm chair, she did feel tired. Closing her eyes briefly, she breathed in the smell of old books. When she opened her eyes again, Dustfinger had vanished.

For a while, she dozed off and on, but troubling thoughts kept returning to haunt her. Once, she could have sworn she heard Mo's voice calling her name, but when she jerked back to wakefulness, it was only a bird calling from the library window pane. She opened the book and tried to read, but the words blurred before her eyes and made no sense to her. Finally, she wandered the familiar house restlessly, looking into the abandoned rooms full of abandoned books, each one just how she remembered it, except for the empty loneliness. When she went into the room that had once belonged to her and Mo, she could not help but feel nostalgic for the wonderful days in that year after she had returned to her family. When there had been no Orpheus.

She opened the closet and found her clothes still in it, dusty, but otherwise unharmed. It was only then she realized that she was still wearing her Medieval-style dress from Inkworld. It would certainly not do to go wandering about in that. So, she put on one of her old outfits, a pair of jeans and a dark blue sweater. The sweater had birds embroidered along the bottom, and Resa chose it because one of those birds was a blue jay. The jeans felt strange on legs used to wearing only dresses and skirts.

She sat on the bed, and wandered off into her thoughts for a while, wishing absentmindedly that Dustfinger would hurry up and get back. The thought crossed her mind suddenly that he had left her for good and gone to find them on his own, and she felt her stomach twist unpleasantly. It wouldn't be at all beyond him. But just when she was convincing herself that he had really left her, she heard the front door open and Dustfinger's voice reached her.

"Resa! Come outside for a moment."

Relief surging through her, she dashed out to the driveway and found the fire-eater inspecting a motor bike that had mysteriously appeared there. Resa came up beside him, glancing up at the sky as she did. It was probably four o' clock by now.

"Where'd that come from?" she asked, indicating the motor bike.

"From a small shop that rents them a little ways down the road," Dustfinger answered. When Resa gave him a doubtful look, he brought out a wallet that looked suspiciously like Mo's. "I paid, if that's what you're glaring at me for, and, yes, I do intend on returning it eventually. Elinor's car isn't here, which probably means they left here of their own free will. Where they went and if they got there are different matters entirely, but we can't follow them by walking."

Resa looked at the motor bike with some trepidation. "I've never driven one of those things before. I don't know if I can."

"No one asked you to," Dustfinger answered shortly.

Resa looked at him with surprise bordering on shock, but this only brought a small chuckle from Dustfinger. "When I was here before, I went around on foot mostly, but if I really needed to get somewhere fast, I did use these things occasionally. They're not hard to manage, although I don't like them much more than those dreadful cars. But, we're in a hurry now, and my tastes in travel don't really matter."

Resa still continued to eye the motor bike with dislike, but she didn't complain. Instead, she commented, "I've been racking my brains trying to think of where they might have gone, and I can only think that they went to Fenoglio's village. Before they left, Fenoglio asked Meggie to fetch his notebooks from his house. Maybe they went straight there so she wouldn't forget."

"How far is the village, do you think?"

"I never was there," Resa said apologetically, "but I think it's about three hours by car."

Dustfinger frowned. "Which probably means it's four or five hours on this thing." He looked up at the sky, calculating the time, then back at the house. "There's clearly no use in staying here," he said after a long pause. "If they were coming back, they would have done it a long time ago. It'll be dark before we get there, but I think we should start looking now and not wait until tomorrow, even if it means sleeping in the grass by the roadside tonight."

"And, who knows, maybe they'll be at Fenoglio's," Resa said hopefully.

"Yes, who knows?" Dustfinger answered without conviction. "If you don't have anything else you want to do here, we'll be going then."

Dustfinger swung his legs over the motor bike, and Resa followed suit, though more hesitantly. The motor started, and Resa clung to the side handles as they jerked forward. "Sorry," Dustfinger muttered, glancing down to check something on the bike. "It may take me a little time to get used to driving one of these again." Resa closed her eyes and hung on grimly as they started off for real, feeling that this was going to be a very long trip.

~o~o~

Despite Resa's initial fear, once Dustfinger got the hang of it, it was not an unpleasant sensation. The wind whipped her long hair out behind her and Dustfinger's coat flapped around him like giant wings. Once they got on the main paved road, it was smooth, but there was not much to look at. There were hills all around them, so at any given time, she could not see very far. The sun traveled towards the western horizon, and the weariness of the day, combined with her previous sleepless night, began to weigh on her. Visions of beds, full of feathers and other nice, soft things, began to drift in front of her eyes. She fought to keep her heavy lids from drooping and her head from nodding, but unsuccessfully. Vaguely, she wondered how long it would take Dustfinger to notice after she fell off.

They hit a bump in the road and her head collided with Dustfinger's back. Realizing that she had been asleep, she shook her head, trying desperately to rid herself of drowsiness. Another bump in the road almost jerked her from her seat, and she prayed that the journey would end soon, even if it meant stopping by the side of the road. Sleeping in the grass didn't sound as unpleasant as it had earlier when Dustfinger suggested it.

A moment later, Resa thought her prayers were being answered when they slowed down and pulled off to the side of the road, but Dustfinger didn't get off. Instead, he turned around and looked at her. "You're falling asleep," he stated bluntly.

Resa's head bobbed miserably. "I'll try to stay awake. I'm sorry," she muttered, her tongue feeling thick and fuzzy.

Dustfinger put a hand in one of his coat pockets and drew out something she couldn't see. "Put your arms around my waist," he ordered.

Resa stared at him dumbly without responding, until Dustfinger caught her hand and pulled it forward. She stuck her other arm out and wrapped it around his waist. He held her wrists for a minute, and when he let go, she could no longer draw back her arms.

"There," Dustfinger said, "I've tied your hands together, so you won't fall off unless I do, and I won't be falling off any time soon. You can lay your head on my back if you like and try to catch some sleep, though I promise we'll stop if we're not there in another hour."

Resa nodded wearily, and they started off again. Accepting Dustfinger's invitation, she laid her head against his back and closed her eyes. His coat was warm, and very soon she felt sleep enveloping her. The sound of the motor droned on in the distance of reality as she slipped into a much needed sleep.

~o~o~

It was dark when she woke. She was leaning back against Dustfinger's pack which was strapped to the back of the motor bike, but its owner was nowhere to be seen. Slowly, groggily, she looked around. The bike was parked on the edge of a cobbled street with rows of houses on either side with only narrow allies between them. A street light about five houses down was the only light, and it cast eerie shadows across the deserted street that seemed to hide rather than illuminate it. Resa shivered as a cold wind whisked its way through the town.

She felt a tremor of fear run down her spine. Where was Dustfinger? She hesitantly called his name in a voice that echoed in a hollow manner and received no reply. He would not have left without his pack and her, so why was he not here and why hadn't he woken her when they stopped? Perhaps he had been kidnapped by whatever dark horror they were pursuing. Terror clawed at her, and she called out again, hearing the panic and fear in her voice.

"Shh, there's no need to wake up the entire village. You didn't think I'd leave you, did you?"

Resa almost sobbed with relief as she spun around and saw Dustfinger slipping out of one of the allies. He unstrapped his pack from the back of the motor bike. "I'm sorry if I fibbed to you," he said quietly, "but obviously we didn't stop. I couldn't bear to and you were asleep, so I just kept driving. I figure it's about eleven o' clock now; the village was farther than I thought."

The shadows from the street light were still eerie, but now that Dustfinger was standing by her, her previous panic seemed foolish. "Are they at Fenoglio's?" she asked, already knowing what the answer was.

"No," he replied, "but they were there. The house was in a worse state than Elinor's, but the dust and cobwebs had been recently disturbed. And the notebooks from the writer's desk were gone. We may be empty-handed currently, but at least we're on the right trail."

Resa was relieved by the news, but she still felt exhaustion creeping over her again. Her head nodded, but she forced herself to look up. "What are we going to do then?"

Dustfinger slipped his arms under her and lifted her easily. "We're not going to do anything just now," he murmured, "or you'll keel over on me. I put new sheets on Fenoglio's bed for you, so hopefully you won't be coughing and sneezing all night from all the dust."

As he spoke, he carried her down the ally he had emerged from. He stopped in front of a door and pushed it gently with his elbow so that it swung open. There were several candles lit inside, but the light they gave revealed little of the house. Resa did not attempt to look around, but laid her head on the fire-eater's chest and closed her eyes. A moment later, he had placed her on something wonderfully soft and warm.

He slipped the blanket over her, and she buried her face in it, sighing happily. Strange how such a simple thing as a bed could be so comforting at times. She looked up at Dustfinger through half closed eyes. "What about you?"

He tucked the blanket more firmly around her chin. "I'll sleep on the couch in the living room. You rest now. Good night, Resa."

"Good night," she murmured back, but she was asleep before he left the room.


	10. A Familiar Face

Chapter 10: A Familiar Face

Meggie was standing in a clearing with huge, dark trees rising up all around. She beckoned with one hand. "Come on, we can't stop now."

Resa looked at her in confusion. "Why? Where are we going?"

"Don't you know?" said Meggie.

"We're looking for someone," said Resa. "Who are we looking for?"

"Mo," Meggie answered. "We must find Mo quickly. The fire elves have taken him."

Resa looked around at the dark trees. There were many fire elves, small red figures flitting about the shadows. One settled on her cheek, but she brushed it away before it could burn her skin. "Mo," she said, "where have they taken him?"

Meggie seemed further away. She beckoned again, this time more urgently. "They've taken him away," she repeated. "They've taken him far away and they will never let him come back ever again. He must live with them forever, until the end of time."

Another fire elf settled on Resa. This time she felt the tiny creature's heat before she swatted it away. Meggie's words sounded strangely familiar, but there was something wrong about them. "No," she called to Meggie, "that's not right. It wasn't fire elves; it was the White Women. And it was Dustfinger, not Mo, whom they took. But he did come back."

"They've taken Mo this time," Meggie answered sadly. She had almost disappeared in the trees. "And he won't come back."

The elves flew about Resa, and she felt their burning bodies on her skin, unpleasant pin points of heat on her face. Meggie was gone, disappeared amidst the trees, and she was left alone again. The heat in her face was unbearable. She struck out madly at the fire elves and hit something far too solid and large for one of the minute creatures.

She opened her eyes to see Dustfinger leaning over her. Heat radiated from the hand that was laid against her cheek. Moaning, she pushed his hand away.

"Rise and shine," he said, prodding her. "We have a long day ahead of us."

She wriggled deeper into the comfortable bed and groaned. "Just a little longer."

"All right," he complied. "Five minutes. But if you're not up by then, I'll burn a hole right through you." The door squeaked loudly as he shut it behind him.

There was a clock on the wall, but it had stopped long ago. Resa guessed when five minutes had just about passed, then swung her legs out of bed before Dustfinger could return to make good his threat. She very much doubted that he would really burn her, but she decided to save herself to indignity of being dragged out of bed, which was something she suspected he would do. Sure enough, her feet had barely touched the floor when she heard his voice at the door. "Are you up yet?"

"Yes," she groaned back.

"Well, hurry up. I have breakfast out here for you."

The only things she had discarded the previous night were her shoes, which she now slipped on. Heavy curtains hung across the window, keeping the room dark, but she could see the faint glow through the drapery that meant the sun was already up.

Pushing open the door, she stumbled sleepily out into the hallway. It was indeed in a worse state than Elinor's house, even though it had only been abandoned a year longer, and this lead Resa to suspect that it had not been in the best condition even before its owner had been whisked away to another world. Fenoglio had never been the most organized person she knew.

She entered the kitchen to find Dustfinger working at the counter, chopping up some potatoes and carrots, which she hoped were not all there was for breakfast. However, Dustfinger indicated the table as she came in. "I went to one of those food vendors down by the beach. I didn't know what you like, so I just got you a sandwich and some fries. There are water bottles in the cabinet over there, not cold, but they'll do."

Resa unwrapped the sandwich. It had a large slab of meat on it that smelled delicious and she suddenly remembered that she hadn't eaten since noon yesterday. "What about you?" she asked as she ate a handful of fries. The once familiar salty taste seemed strange now, but good.

"Oh, I'm not hungry," Dustfinger said quickly, unwrapping another package. Resa saw that it was hamburger meat. He cut a slice off and wrapped it up in a piece of tinfoil along with several pieces of potato and carrot before depositing it in his backpack.

Resa looked skeptical. "When's the last time you ate? I know you haven't eaten since we got to this world."

"Do you?" Dustfinger answered her in his usual cryptic tone. "Actually, I haven't eaten since the evening before we left."

"That long!" Resa looked shocked. "For goodness sake, sit down and eat something this minute. We don't know how long it might be before we can get another good meal and all we need is for you to collapse from hunger."

The tinfoil crinkled loudly as the fire-eater put another bundle in his pack. "I'll be fine. I don't have to eat very often anymore, remember," he said.

Resa folded her arms and glared at him. "Oh yes, I'd forgotten I was traveling with a magical being who can do all sorts of things that I can only dream of. Sorry I mentioned it."

Dustfinger stopped working and came over to the table where he sat gingerly on the edge of her chair. Reaching across her, he took a handful of fries which he ate slowly and deliberately. "There, I've eaten. Are you satisfied?" he asked when his mouth was empty.

Resa held the sandwich out to him. "No," she said, "even if you do have special powers, you still need to keep your strength up. You're not immortal."

Dustfinger took a large bite out of the sandwich then pushed it back towards her. "All right, I'll buy myself something when we go out. And, for your sake, I'll try to act more human for the rest of the trip, okay?"

Resa gently touched his cheek. "You are human," she murmured.

"Hmm," Dustfinger answered, "I thought I was paper and ink."

She slapped him, though not hard. "If you start that kind of nonsense up again, I'll go crazy."

"And I don't suppose I want that," he replied. "I have enough problems as it is."

They left the house and locked it, then went down to the village square. Dustfinger looked around at the statue in the center of the square, the building surrounding it, and the many people crossing the paving. "It's grown since I was last here," he said, "but that was thirteen years ago and this world grows fast."

Resa had to admit that she was surprised by the amount of activity around them. Fenoglio and Meggie had both told her of the small, seaside village, but what she saw before her was a busy, tourist town. They walked down towards the beach where most of the tourist attractions, including the cafés and a large hotel, were situated. True to his word, Dustfinger bought himself a sandwich, but insisted on eating it while walking.

"Where do you think we should start?" Resa asked above the shouts of children on the beach and the rumble of various vehicles.

"They didn't stay the night at Fenoglio's, but they were probably here around evening. I'm guessing they didn't spend the night on the street, so let's try the hotel."

It was a long, two-story structure with balconies overlooking the beach. They went in at the main entrance and found themselves in a luxurious lobby with potted palm trees around the perimeter. To their left was a desk behind which was a woman of perhaps thirty with blond hair in a ponytail and a bored expression on her face.

"Hmm, this makes the castle of Ombra look like a hovel, doesn't it? What a grand place," Dustfinger murmured. "Personally, I'd rather sleep in a moss-covered clearing with the forest as walls and the sky as my roof." Resa couldn't help smiling; Dustfinger would always be the same strolling player at heart.

"I suppose we should ask her if they stayed here," Resa said, nodding towards the woman behind the desk.

"Yes, I suppose so," he answered. "Well, come on then."

The woman had been watching them surreptitiously, but now as they approached she stood up straight and brushed a few loose strands of hair back into her ponytail. Resa guessed that most of the hotel customers were rich, and two travel-worn strangers were probably not a common sight, but the woman didn't seem bothered by their shabby appearance. She glanced over both of them, but it did not escape Resa's notice that her gaze rested a good deal longer on Dustfinger than on herself.

"Can I help you?" she asked the fire-eater.

Dustfinger tapped his fingers on the desk slowly, trying to decide how to phrase his question. The woman raised an eyebrow as she inspected Resa. "Would you and your… wife like a room?"

Dustfinger looked at Resa, clearly deciding whether or not to correct the woman of her mistake, and Resa colored slightly when he decided not to. He smiled at the woman. "No, actually we were wondering if any rooms have been recently taken under the name of Folchart or Loredan."

"Just a minute." The woman flashed him a charming smile and disappeared into another room.

"Wife!" Resa hissed at him.

"Well, we are together. It was a legitimate mistake."

"You might have corrected her."

"Why bother?" He pulled a mournful face. "And it hurts my feelings to discover that you find that idea so offensive."

Resa shook her head and smiled, remembering the times he had teased her in similar fashion back at Capricorn's village. Only then, she had not been able to answer him back. An end was put to their banter as the woman returned. "There were two rooms taken under the name Loredan," she told Dustfinger in a business-like tone.

Resa heard Dustfinger's sharp intake of breath as he inadvertently leaned forward, back to his serious self in an instant. "When was that? Are they still here?"

"No," the woman answered, "they were here for one night five nights ago." She paused, waiting for Dustfinger to make a comment, but when he remained silent, she smiled politely and asked, "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"No, that's fine, thank you," Dustfinger answered before nodding to her and going back towards the entrance with Resa.

Resa glanced back over her shoulder at the woman as they exited the building, frowning. "Maybe it's a good thing you let her think I was with you. If not, she might have asked you out right there. I wonder what she'd say if she found out that you're a good twenty years older than she is."

"Well, you must admit that I look good for my age, seeing as I haven't aged in the last twelve years," Dustfinger replied with a wry smile. But then his face was grave again. "So, only one night five nights ago. That was the day they arrived in this world. The question is: where did they go from here if they didn't go back to Elinor's house?"

Resa had no idea. After the brief excitement of some clues, she felt depressed that the trail seemed to have gone cold again. She was jerked from her reveries by Dustfinger prodding her arm. "We can think it through over a cup of tea. What do you say?"

There was a small café off to the side of the hotel with a deck overlooking the sea. They both sat down at one of the small, round tables protected from the sun by an umbrella, and Dustfinger pulled out the wallet. Resa eyed it. "That looks like Mo's."

"That's because it is," Dustfinger answered, pulling out some money, "but he's not ever going to use it, now is he? I found it in his room when I was searching Elinor's house yesterday and I figured that we would probably need it. Tea?" he asked her.

"With honey," she replied, playing absentmindedly with a long strand of hair. Dustfinger nodded and went over to the café window, and Resa glanced around. There were several tourist families enjoying a late breakfast, and a young couple was sitting in the corner sharing a cup of ice cream. Resa thought of her own family and tried to force back the sadness that these thoughts brought with them.

"Resa! Resa, is that you? Oh, thank heavens!"

Surprised at hearing her name, Resa's head shot up, and relief surged through her at the sight of a familiar face. Darius was hurrying towards her, a look of delight spread across his features. She leapt up and embraced him, laughing. "Darius! You're here. You have no idea how happy I am to see you."

"Same here," he replied. "Oh, I don't know what I would have done if I hadn't found you."

"Darius?"

Resa and Darius turned to see Dustfinger standing beside them with a cup of steaming tea in each hand. What looked like fear crossed the reader's face and his already owlish eyes got even larger. "D…D…Dustfinger?" he stammered. "So, it did work."

"What worked?" Dustfinger asked, setting the drinks down and pulling over another chair from a nearby table. "Where are the others? Are they close by?"

Darius fiddled awkwardly with the table cloth. "W..well, no," he said finally. "I don't actually know exactly where they are. But now that you two are here, I'm sure you'll be able to help. It's a long story."

Resa felt the new hope slipping out of her grasp, and Dustfinger was frowning. "Darius, I think you need to tell us what's going on," he said solemnly. "Start from the beginning and tell us everything you know."


	11. In Another World

Chapter 11: In Another World

Alvino did not know what to expect. When Mo began to read, he had been preparing himself for a sudden jolt, pain, or something else unpleasant, but for a second, he hadn't even realized it had happened. It was like waking up suddenly from a doze when you hadn't known you were asleep. He looked around and saw that everything had disappeared, the river, the bent aspen, the fields outside Ombra, and had been replaced with a narrow path lined with trees. His parents, Doria, Miranda's mother, and the writer were nowhere to be seen. At this last thought, panic flooded through him, but it only lasted a second. As soon as he turned, he saw he was not alone.

Meggie, Miranda, Elinor, and Darius all looked dizzy and confused, but perfectly fine. Alvino took his sister's hand and tugged it. "Is this it?" he asked. "Are we here?"

Elinor answered instead of Meggie, "Of course we're here, right where we wanted to be. Oh, to think I'll be seeing my very own house again, that is, if a tornado hasn't whisked it away or the ground hasn't opened up beneath it and swallowed it. Mortimer's voice certainly hasn't lost any of its magic."

The shock of switching worlds seemed to have had little effect on her. She began to trot off down the road at a brisk pace despite her age, calling, "Well, come along," over her shoulder. Darius looked at Meggie with his large, owl eyes, shrugged, and followed Elinor at a slower, more cautious pace.

Meggie walked along behind with Alvino still holding her hand anxiously. Miranda walked on Meggie's other side, pressing close to her skirts and gawking at the lines of trees. Alvino also allowed himself to glance around, and he wondered where and how far this house was. Inside, he felt a slight pang of disappointment. He didn't know what he had been expecting, a world made of metal and wheels or a country where the sky was green and the trees were blue, but this world didn't seem any different from the one he had just come from. The trees looked exactly like trees, there were white clouds floating in the blue sky, and there was not a single sign of a car or airplane anywhere.

He tugged his sister's hand again, and when she looked at him, he asked quietly, "Are you sure we're in the right place?"

"Yes, this is it," Meggie answered him softly. "Is something wrong?"

Alvino tried hard not to let disappointment show in his face or voice, but he wasn't altogether successful. "It doesn't look any different from home."

Meggie laughed, the same laugh as their mother, which made him suddenly homesick, though only a little. "Home was based on this world. You can't expect Fenoglio to come up with something completely new. But just wait, you'll see everything you want to see in a short while."

Miranda hadn't said a word since they arrived. Alvino thought that she looked a little scared, but he couldn't quite tell from her face. He personally didn't see anything to be scared of anyway.

They heard Elinor's joyful exclamation from a little ways up the path. "It is still standing after all. Heavens, what a mess the place is in!"

The three stragglers made it to the end of the driveway to stand beside Darius and the exuberant Elinor. Alvino could hardly believe the sight before his eyes and from the way Miranda was staring, he guessed she was as impressed as he was. "That…that's one person's house?" he stammered in surprise.

Elinor turned to face him, beaming, "It is indeed, Alvino. I wish you could see it in its glory, not so run down, but we'll do what we can with her while we're here. Home at last, after twelve years, eh Darius."

She walked across the lawn towards the front door, and the rest followed more slowly. Alvino stared up at the gigantic building that made any one of the nobles' houses in Ombra look like a hut. True, it was covered with ivy and the shutters over the window did not make it look very welcoming, but Alvino was amazed all the same.

Elinor walked up the steps and pulled at the door, only to find it locked. "Bother," she said angrily. "I suppose the house is annoyed at me for abandoning it for so long. Imagine, coming all the way from another world and not being able to get into my own house."

"Maybe there's a window open somewhere," Meggie suggested, "or, if worse comes to worst, we can probably break in one of the lower windows."

Elinor gave her a disapproving look, "Goodness, Meggie, what has living in Inkworld done to you? Breaking in, indeed!"

Miranda suddenly stepped up to the door holding a thin twig in her hand. She slipped the twig into the key hole, and, holding her head close to the door to listen, she jiggled the twig around until something clicked. After taking out the twig and pulling on the door, it opened for her effortlessly. Elinor frowned. "Well, the girl has inherited more from her father than some red hair, hasn't she? I'll have to keep an eye on her."

Meggie let a small smile cross her lips. "Well, the door's open and no windows are broken. Let's see what condition your books are in."

This thought seemed to motivate Elinor greatly, for she stepped in quickly, giving Miranda a brief nod of gratitude as she passed. Alvino went in after Meggie and found himself standing in a large entrance, lined by books. He guessed there were more books in that one room than in all of Ombra and he wondered what Balbalus or Taddeo would say if they could see so many volumes. Elinor acted as if they were long lost children. Immediately, she began brushing dust off them, sneezing, then rubbing her hands over them lovingly and calling to Darius. "They seem to be fine, other than the dust and the fact that no one's looked at them for twelve years. It makes me sad to think of so many books all alone with no one to care for them. I must see how many I can take back."

While Elinor and Darius fussed over the books, Meggie led Alvino and Miranda through to another room, this one devoid of books, but with a table in the middle and odd structures against the wall. Meggie reached over to the wall, touched something, and all of a sudden, the room was flooded with light. Alvino jumped with surprise, and Miranda looked at Meggie as if she were a magician. "How did you do that?" she asked in awe.

Alvino knew. "Electricity," he said proudly, and he carefully inspected the switch set in the wall. "And that's a stove, isn't it?" he said, pointing at one of the strange structures against the wall.

"Yes," Meggie said, lowering her pack to the floor. "Are either of you hungry? We can see if we can find anything edible. Here, help me brush off the table a bit, and cover your noses or you'll be sneezing for weeks."

Elinor and Darius joined them, the former still chattering away about books. When Meggie asked her about food, her frown reappeared. "I'm sure there's still plenty of canned foods down in the cellar – there still was when Orpheus had us locked down there – but I wouldn't trust anything that's twelve or thirteen years old. How about we go to lunch in town? It's only a twenty minute drive or so."

At the mention of driving, Alvino looked up eagerly, but his hopes of riding in a car were squashed for the time being by Meggie. "You're all still in your Inkworld clothes," she said. "Why don't I go to town, buy Alvino and Miranda some clothes, and bring lunch back. You can get settled in, and maybe Alvino and Miranda would like to take a look around the yard and explore the house. Darius, would you like to come with me? I never learned to drive."

It was decided that this was a good idea. Darius disappeared upstairs and reappeared shortly wearing what Alvino thought were very strange clothes. Then he and Meggie, who was in her mother's dress, went back out into the driveway. Alvino went and stood on the doorstep to get a view of the car. There was a rumble like thunder from the garage, then the car appeared to Alvino's delight. Resa had drawn him pictures of the mysterious machines, so he had a fairly good idea of what it looked like, but still, seeing it in person sent shivers up and down his spine. Delight filled him as he watched the vehicle disappear down the lane they had walked up when they arrived. His former disappointment vanished and he felt like whooping. He was in a different world, a world where lights came on with the touch of a hand and structures made of metal moved along the roads. He had dreamed and thought about it for so long, and now finally he was here.

He and Miranda explored the house with a warning from Elinor to not disturb the books, especially ones in poor condition. This Alvino immediately agreed to for he had no interest in the thousands of books laying in every corner and along every hallway. It seemed that the house was even bigger inside than it looked from the outside, and Miranda would have been pleased to explore every nook and cranny for hours, but Alvino grew bored of the rooms piled with books. Finally, he convinced Miranda to go explore the grounds with him. He had seen the lake on the way in and wanted to see the ruined castle that Elinor had told him was once home to robbers.

It was a pleasant spring day, and both children took off their shoes and waded along the shoreline, splashing up water with their feet and looking at their surroundings in interest. "It's something, isn't it?" Alvino laughed after a while. "A whole other world. I wonder how many there are."

"As many as there are books, I suppose," Miranda said, holding out her hand to let a large dragonfly land on it.

"I want to explore them all some day," Alvino said cheerfully. "Every one of them. You'll come with me, won't you?"

Miranda stopped splashing and was silent. Alvino turned to look at her. "What's the matter? You like it here, don't you?"

"Yes, I guess so," Miranda replied unconvincingly. She twirled a lock of hair absently around her finger. "I'll be happy when we go back, and I don't think I'd want to leave again." She shivered. "I know what my father means now about being in the wrong place. It's not right – I don't feel like I belong here. Maybe it's different for you because your family came from here." Alvino didn't know what to say to this, so he kept on walking. A little while later, they heard the rumble of the car, and they raced each other back to the house.

Alvino inspected the strange clothes his sister had brought back for him to wear. The pants were much stiffer than his, and there was only a shirt with no tunic. But he had to admit that he didn't look half as strange as Miranda who was dressed in a pair of the same stiff pants that Meggie called jeans and a pale blue shirt. Meggie had brought back things for sandwiches, which Alvino had eaten at his house, but with which Miranda had no previous experience. They ate in relative silence, mostly because their mouths were full, but towards the end of the meal, Elinor looked around at them and asked, "So, we're here for you two. What is it that you want to do with your two weeks?"

Alvino answered promptly. "I want to see everything."

This only brought a frown from Elinor. "Everything? Hmph, I'm afraid to say that we'd need a good deal longer than two weeks to see everything. How about we go to the seashore? There's sure to be interesting things like motor boats and ice cream that you've never seen before. How about it?"

"Oh," Meggie said suddenly, "what about Fenoglio's old village? He asked me to get his notebooks while we were here. I know it's only a small village, but it's by the sea, and we can drive by the sea to one of the larger villages."

"Maybe we can stop at Capricorn's village," Alvino said excitedly, "and you can show me the crypt where Mother was locked up. Do you think you could find it?"

"Heavens, no!" Elinor said sharply. "Even if we could find that wretched place, I wouldn't take you or anyone else anywhere near it. I'm not letting a perfectly good two week vacation get ruined by horrid memories of Basta and crypts."

Meggie's idea was agreed upon by everyone, and Elinor commented that they should get a move on or it would be dark before they got there, especially if they took a wrong turn which was not at all unlikely. They left their packs in the kitchen, for Elinor said, "There isn't room for all of us and all of those packs in my car. We'll be back here tomorrow after we've been to Fenoglio's place."

They all went out to the car, which was still in the driveway. Elinor and Darius got in the front, and the two Folcharts and Miranda climbed in the back. Alvino looked around with unconcealed delight, but Miranda, once in, was not keen on riding. "It's all right," Meggie said placatingly to her. "You'll get used to it quickly."

They started off, and Alvino gazed around in awe. He was amazed by the smoothness with which they glided along the roads, and when he saw the trees skimming past on either side, he felt like laughing aloud. Miranda, after a brief panic, calmed down and soon had her face pressed to the glass as she watched the landscape speed by. Soon, the two of them were chattering loudly with each other, Meggie was reading a book that she had taken from Elinor's, and Elinor was chatting away to Darius as she drove, oblivious to the fact that he had fallen asleep.

The sun was beginning to sink when they drove into Fenoglio's village. "Heavens above," Elinor exclaimed when they stepped out into the village square, "maybe we won't need to look for another village. This place hasn't certainly grown a fair bit. I hope you remember where the writer's house is, Meggie."

Meggie had always had a good memory and a fine sense of direction. They followed her straight to the house, which they found to be locked. There were no twigs around for Miranda's use, and Elinor was just going to start complaining about coming all the way for nothing, when Meggie found a key behind a brick in the wall.

"I suspected he would have something like that," Meggie explained as she opened the door and they all stepped in. "He told me once that he often locked himself out of his house accidentally. He can be a bit scatterbrained sometimes."

"Sometimes?" Elinor snorted. "Will you look at the place? And I thought my house was a mess."

Darius sneezed loudly as he shut the door, sending dust flying. "I'm surprised no one's bought the house. It's been abandoned for thirteen years."

Meggie found the writing desk, and frowned when she saw that it was littered with notebooks and papers, some blank and some with scribbled words. "Maybe his family still owns it. I think they lived here in the village – his grandchildren did, at least."

Alvino came over in the pretense of helping Meggie search, but really he wanted to see what sort of things were written by the man who had created the world he lived in. He was disappointed, however, for the handwriting was too messy for him to read. He pushed aside several papers absentmindedly, revealing several bound notebooks. "Are these them?" he asked, prodding Meggie.

She picked them up and opened them, and Alvino saw her eyes skimming the pages. Finally, she closed them and smiled broadly at him. "They are actually. Thanks, Alvino."

"Does that mean we can get out of this stuffy place now?" Elinor complained. "If I sneeze one more time, my nose will come off, I'm sure of it."

Once back out on the streets, they found that darkness had fallen. There were no street lights on the ally, and Alvino could barely tell his companions apart in the gloom. There was something sinister about the darkness, his first night in a strange world, and for the first time since he had arrived, he felt what Miranda had mentioned by the lake, the odd feeling of being in the wrong story and place.

"Well, it's obviously far too late to go back to my house." Elinor's voice cut through the dark. "When we were coming in, I noticed a hotel down by the beach. We can spend the night there, and it's bound to have some place where we can get supper."

"Do we have enough money?" Meggie said anxiously. "I was going to see if Mo's wallet was in his room still, but I forgot."

Elinor snorted. "Well, I didn't forget. I grabbed my credit card before we left, and I don't think we have to worry about spending too much. I hadn't managed to spend my fortune all on books yet, and I doubt we'll ever get the chance to spend any of it again, so let's make a holiday of it."

Alvino was starting to tire after a long day of excitement, and Miranda was dragging her feet. He fervently hoped that a hotel was a pleasant place to spend the night, although he felt as if he could sleep quite easily anywhere. He did not remember much of what happened, except that they went into a very large building and Elinor talked for a time to a stranger behind a huge desk. Then Meggie was gently pulling him along a corridor until they reached their rooms. There were two rooms, connected to each other by a door in the middle of the wall. Darius and Alvino took one room, and Elinor, Miranda, and Meggie took the other. Kicking off their shoes, they got into the beds without bothering to undress.

Miranda and Alvino could see each other through the doorway. Miranda smiled sleepily at him as she wriggled into the blankets. "Goodnight, Alvino."

He nodded wearily back and closed his eyes. Strange smells and sounds surrounded him, but as sleep overtook him, all these faded into the background. _I'm in another world,_ he thought drowsily. The thought made him giggle quietly to himself, but a minute later he was asleep.


	12. The Voice of Fear

Chapter 12: The Voice of Fear

Meggie was the first up the next morning. Careful not to disturb Miranda with whom she had been sharing a bed, she got up and went downstairs to see what there was by way of breakfast. They had opted to go without supper the previous night, as everyone had been far too tired to eat. She learned from the woman behind the desk that there were several restaurants in the village now, so she went back up to inform her companions of this. Miranda and Alvino were out on the balcony, once again very lively after a good sleep. When Meggie attempted to rouse Elinor, she only grumbled, and Darius just blinked at her, so, leaving a note for the two of them, she took Alvino and Miranda to get breakfast.

They decided on pancakes. This was new to both children, and they ate ravenously, eager to be sight seeing. Alvino still had not given up on the idea of seeing Capricorn's notorious village, but Meggie told him truthfully that she didn't know where it was. Elinor and Darius joined them just as they were finishing, and the children went out into the square to look around while Elinor and Darius ate. Later, they all came out and watched Alvino and Miranda getting their fill of the new sights.

Meggie smiled as she watched her younger brother gape at a motorcycle as it zipped past. She could tell he was impressed and enjoying himself, but she was not so sure of Miranda. She seemed excited enough, but Meggie had also seen the fleeting looks of homesickness that reminded her of the expression she had so often seen on Dustfinger's face.

There were several stray cats around and Alvino found one that was particularly friendly. It rubbed against his leg until he petted it and then followed him around the square as he inspected the motor bikes, cars, and bicycles that were driving around the street that constituted the perimeter of the square. Miranda also tried to become acquainted with one of the cats, but when she picked it up, it hissed and lashed out at her with its claws. She dropped it with a cry and clutched at her cheek.

Meggie was at her side in an instant. "Here, let me see your face. Oh, it's not too bad – just a few scratches." She used the corner of a handkerchief to wipe away a tiny trickle of blood. "There, it'll stop stinging in a minute or two. Best not go picking up any more of those strays though, except Alvino's. That one looks like it wouldn't mind some stroking."

Miranda went running off again, and Meggie returned to her companions, shaking her head in amusement at how fast children could bounce back. Elinor flashed her a brief smile. "Hmm, I remember when you were like that – nothing could keep you down for too long. But, goodness, to watch you fuss over those two, you'd think you were they're mother."

Meggie smiled back sweetly. "Well, if you'd like to take over the mothering duties, you're welcome to them."

Elinor snorted, "Heavens, do you think I'm able to dash around after those two all day? Each of them has more energy than all three of us ancients put together. No, I think I'll leave the mothering duties to you. After all, who knows, you might need those skills someday soon."

Meggie gave Elinor a quick sideways glance at hearing this last remark, but the old woman had become disinterested with the conversation and had turned to Darius. She noticed suddenly that a little girl, probably no more than eight or nine years old, was standing close by, watching Miranda with intense interest. It came to Meggie that the girl looked somehow familiar, but before she had time to think about it, the girl looked back at her and spoke.

"Can the red haired one breathe fire?"

The question surprised Meggie so much that for several seconds she didn't answer. But finally, she looked curiously at the girl and said, "No, no, she can't, but why would you ask something like that?"

The girl seemed neither shy nor embarrassed about speaking to a strange adult. She pursed her lips thoughtfully before answering. "I heard stories about someone who could breathe fire. They said it was a man with red hair and three scars on his face, but I thought they might have made a mistake. She has red hair and three scars, so I thought the story might have been about her. I've always wanted to see the fire."

Meggie had not noticed that there were three claw marks left on Miranda's cheek. She stared at the girl. "Who told you these stories?"

The girl shrugged. "My brothers and sister tell them to me, mostly my oldest brother. They said the stories were told to them by their grandfather, but I never met him. He died before I was born."

_No, no, he didn't!_ Meggie wanted to shout. _I saw him only yesterday._ But she kept her voice calm and said, "Your brothers and sister aren't named Pippo, Rico, and Paula by any chance, are they?"

Instead of being surprised that Meggie knew her siblings' names, the girl just smiled and nodded. "You know them?"

Before Meggie could answer, someone called, "Eva", from across the street, and a new boy and girl emerged from an ally and came towards the girl. Meggie's breath caught slightly as she saw them and realized exactly how long it had been since she and Mo first came to this village. If she had not known who they must be, she would have never recognized the two young adults as the small children in Fenoglio's house.

Eva turned around to face her older siblings, beaming and pointing to Meggie. "She knows you!"

They stopped and looked at Meggie in surprise, obviously not remembering her. Feeling embarrassed, Meggie stepped forward and held out a hand. "Hello, you probably don't remember me. I'm Meggie Folchart."

The boy, who looked about twenty, let out an involuntary gasp, and when Meggie looked into his eyes, she vividly remembered staring into the frightened face of the child who had unwittingly given her away to Basta. "Hello, Pippo," she said quietly.

"Meggie," he said slowly as if in a daze, "that was the name of the girl…" he trailed off, still staring at her.

"You came to Grandfather's house right before he disappeared," the girl, who Meggie knew must be Paula, said. "No one's heard of him in thirteen years. They say he's dead."

There was an obvious question in Paula's eyes, but Meggie didn't know what to reply. She wanted to tell them that Fenoglio was still alive and well, but the necessary explanation that would have to follow was out of the question.

She was suddenly aware that Elinor had been listening to the conversation and understood what was happening. "Your grandfather's always enjoyed traveling, hasn't he?" she said in her brusque manner. "When Meggie came before, she told him about a distant land that he'd always wanted to visit so he went straight there. He decided to move in permanently, but we came back on a short visit, and I can assure you that he's quite well."

Meggie did not expect this answer to satisfy Paula and Pippo, but neither asked more questions, although Pippo certainly looked as if he would have liked to. Paula just frowned thoughtfully and looked from Elinor to Meggie. "Do you have anywhere to stay tonight?" she asked. "If you're friends of Grandfather, then I'm sure you would be welcome at our house. We would like to hear more news of him. Mother certainly would."

Pippo nodded enthusiastically, and from the way he glanced at her, she could see he was curious. Nothing had changed there, apparently. Meggie decided to accept the invitation, sure they could give the family some news to encourage them that Fenoglio was not dead. "Yes, that would be nice, if your mother really doesn't mind," she replied.

"Oh, she won't," Pippo said emphatically. "We have visitors quite often."

"Thank you then," Meggie answered, still dazed at the unexpected encounter. She could only hope that the family would not question her to persistently about where exactly Fenoglio had taken up residence. For a moment, she was almost angry at Elinor for speaking out, but there was nothing she could do about it now.

"I'll go tell Mother we're having visitors," Pippo was telling Paula. "You bring Eva along when they're ready to come."

Meggie made sure enough time had elapsed for Pippo to have warned his family of their arrival before she fetched Alvino and Miranda whom Darius was buying ice cream for. She explained the situation to the three of them, then looked at the younger two meaningfully. "Don't mention Inkworld or anyone in it," she warned. "I don't want them to think we're crazy, especially since I was the last person seen with Fenoglio." She wished the three scratches were not so evident on Miranda's face, for, coupled with her red hair, Miranda was sure to attract the same type of questions as the one Eva had asked.

They followed Paula down one of the side streets into an alley, then entered one of the older village houses. Pippo opened the door for them and hovered around with nervous energy as a woman of perhaps forty-five emerged from the kitchen and introduced herself as Adriana, Fenoglio's daughter. Feeling very awkward, Meggie made the introductions on her side, aware of Adriana's questioning gaze and the curious glances of her three children.

"Please, come in and sit down," Adriana said, beckoning them. "Pippo told me that you know of my father."

_This was a bad decision, _Meggie thought as she allowed herself to be ushered in and seated on a couch with Darius and Elinor. _This is where we either start sounding as if we're crazy or start lying, both of which I would prefer avoiding._ She glanced quickly at Miranda who was seated on a couch with Alvino and Eva, hoping that Adriana was not too familiar with Fenoglio's stories or that she didn't look too closely at the red haired girl.

"I'm very sorry that it's taken so long for us to bring you news of your father," she apologized to Adriana, "but we've come from quite a long way." She paused to collect her thoughts, carefully choosing her words. "Fenoglio has settled down happily and is doing really quite well. He still writes and is making a fine living from it, but I'm afraid that also means he's very busy and hasn't had time to leave. He's also getting older and doesn't travel as much as he used to." This was certainly all true, but as she halted, she dreaded the question that Adriana was sure to ask: where exactly had Fenoglio gone?

However, Meggie was spared the question, at least for the present. Adriana seemed less concerned with Fenoglio's whereabouts than about his health and life in general.

"That must be annoying for him," Adriana said in reply to Meggie last sentence. "He was always so energetic and loved seeing new places. When I was a child, I remember he used to drag us all over – he said he needed inspiration for his stories. But everyone must grow old I guess, and he wasn't young when he left. But he is well other than some aches and pains of age?"

"He is that," Elinor answered with some jealousy in her voice. "He's still twice as active as me, even if we're about the same age. I don't know how he manages it." Meggie let a smile tug at her lips. That was most definitely true. Whenever Elinor and Fenoglio happened to meet, she sensed that the two were competing for who showed the least signs of age, and she had to admit that Fenoglio won most of these contentions.

Alvino and Miranda were becoming acquainted with Eva. The three could be heard whispering to each other, even though they were making an attempt to be quiet while the adults talked. Adriana sensed that the children were getting bored. "Eva, why don't you take them out to play," she told her daughter. "I'm sure they would love to see your tree house." Needing no second bidding, the three vanished through the door almost before she had finished speaking.

They talked an hour longer with Meggie doing most of the talking as Adriana asked various questions, none of which, to Meggie's relief required a mention of Inkworld. At last, Adriana excused herself. "I'm sorry, but I must be fixing lunch. Please, you are welcome to stay here if you want. Lunch will be ready in less than an hour."

"Thank you for the offer, but we were going to try out one of the cafés by the beach for lunch," Elinor said. "And then we were going back to my own house for tonight."

Adriana nodded. "Well, you are welcome if you need a place any other time. I cannot thank you enough for giving me news of my father. When he disappeared, of course, we called the police, but no one could find him. I have not known for thirteen years whether he was alive or dead, but your words have given me hope. Please give him my love and tell him that if he is able, we all would be overjoyed to see him again."

"We certainly will," Elinor replied.

Adriana and Paula disappeared back into the kitchen to start fixing lunch as Elinor and Darius disappeared through the back door to collect Alvino and Miranda, leaving Meggie and Pippo alone in the living room. Meggie was about to follow her companions, when Pippo stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. He spoke in a low voice that would not carry into the kitchen. "You weren't telling everything."

Meggie looked into the boy's curious eyes and knew suddenly that there would be no hedging with him. There was an earnest edge to his voice that she couldn't ignore. "I was only seven when Grandfather disappeared, but I remember the stories he told well enough and I remember him. Yes, he liked to travel, but he wouldn't run off and just leave us like that without even saying goodbye. There's something strange going on that you didn't tell my mother."

Meggie looked him right in the eyes. "I told your mother the truth."

"But not all the truth," he insisted. "Rico was too young to really understand or remember Grandfather's stories and Paula liked playing with her friends more than listening to them, but I remember ever single one of them. Some of them were stories that he just made up for us, some were from the books he wrote, and others were stories about those books that he never wrote down. He had all sorts of worlds and tales, but I think this all has to do with just one of them, the one you were after when you came before: _Inkheart_."

He paused after saying the book's name, searching her face for a reaction. Meggie was glad that she was better at disguising her feelings than her parents. Pippo shook his head in frustration and leaned forward. "You can trust me. Whatever happened to Grandfather, I want to know. I'm not stupid, Meggie. That man who forced me to take him to you and Grandfather was named Basta, just like one of the characters in the stories. And then a day later Grandfather just vanishes into thin air without saying goodbye. And then you show up, saying he's alive and well. You and a girl who's the image of her father. Yes, I heard enough stories about the Fire-Dancer to know his daughter when she shows up. They weren't stories, were they? Those people, those places he told us about are real, aren't they? And that's where he's gone."

Meggie saw no point in withholding the truth from him any longer. "Yes," she said quietly. "Yes, it's all real, the people, the places, all Inkworld. We've all been living there for the past twelve years. Your Grandfather went a year earlier than the rest of us, but, believe me, it's a very long story."

There was no doubt in Pippo's eyes, only a shining excitement. _He's still the same child at heart,_ Meggie thought briefly. _But, of course he is. He's Fenoglio's grandson after all._

"You can go there?" Pippo asked breathlessly. "Could I go there?"

Meggie had seen that question coming. She bit her lip. "Pippo, it's not as easy as that. It's all done by magic, by reading aloud, and if you don't have the right words, you can't go. And we don't have the right words for you."

Frustration showed again on his face. "Then you can write me words. I've always suspected, ever since I saw Basta, that the stories were real and that Grandfather somehow found his way into them. And I've always wanted to follow him. Paula and Rico don't believe me – they don't even really remember the stories – but I always knew. I want to go back with you."

Meggie felt sorry for Pippo, understanding fully the deep longing that was pulling at his heart. But the facts could not be changed, and the paper tucked carefully in her clothes did not have Pippo's name on it. "I'm sorry…" she began, but Pippo turned away angrily.

"Fine," he said, "I understand that you won't take me. At least I'll know now that it's actually true, even if no one ever lets me see it." Before Meggie could say anything, he had disappeared into another room.

Feeling slightly guilty and sad, Meggie went out to find Elinor, Darius, Miranda, and Alvino waiting in the alley for her. Alvino was saying something about seeing airplanes to Elinor, so they didn't notice Meggie's sudden solemnity. Or, at least, she hoped they hadn't.

"We've decided to get a pizza," Elinor said, "and then take it out to the countryside and have a picnic. How does that sound to you, Meggie?"

"Hmm, wonderful," Meggie said with as much conviction as she could manage, still thinking about Pippo and the look of longing in his eyes. Guilt gnawed at her heart. She had only needed to add two small words to the paper that sent her into Inkworld. _The girl._ How hard would it really be to add two other words to the paper in her pocket? _The boy._ Why should she deny Pippo the thing that she herself had wanted so much that she was willing to break her parents' hearts to get it?

They were informed that it would be half an hour before their pizza was ready, so Elinor suggested that they could go find a suitable picnicking spot while they waited. It was just about midday as they exited the village and went up into the rolling hills that surrounded the town. Elinor and Darius soon were out of breath. "I think this is quite far enough," Elinor said, sitting on top of one of the hills. "Nice and quiet, and we even have a lovely view of the sea from here."

Darius agreed and seated himself beside Elinor, while Miranda and Alvino played tag and Meggie looked around. Something didn't seem right. Meggie didn't even know what exactly she didn't like about the place, but she could feel a definite tingle of unease. She had experienced enough dangerous situations in her life to recognize the feeling. She glanced around again. To the east was the village and the sea, to the south a forest, and to the north and west more hills like the one they were on, certainly nothing out of the ordinary.

She felt dizzy suddenly and stuck out a hand to steady herself, but there was nothing to grasp. Wavering, she drew in her breath sharply as she regained control of her body and saw Elinor looking at her in concern. "Heavens, Meggie, are you all right? Why don't you sit?"

"I was dizzy for a second, but it's gone," she answered. "I must still be tired from switching worlds and everything."

"Yes, that's certainly enough to make anybody exhausted," Elinor agreed. "Well, we'll drive back to the house after lunch and you can sleep the whole way if you like. That is, if those two don't keep you awake with their chatter and questions. Where are they anyway?"

Meggie was just about to sit, when suddenly she heard Miranda scream. The two children had chased each other down into one of the dips between the hills, and she couldn't see either of them from where she was. Fear suddenly surged into her at the terror in Miranda's cry, and she dashed to the slope.

Nothing, absolutely nothing, could have prepared her for what she saw. Alvino and Miranda were at the bottom of the dip, huddled together with terror written on their faces. Only a few paces away from them was a creature Meggie had read about in books many times but had never seen before.

Elinor and Darius had followed her as fast as they could and now stopped dead in their tracks at the sight before them. Darius's voice was a horrified stutter. "M…Meggie, what is th…th…that thing?"

Before Meggie could answer, a voice spoke from behind them, a voice that Meggie had never forgotten even though she had tried, a voice that was the very voice of fear itself. "It's a dragon actually," the beautiful, terrible voice said, "and I read it here."

The three of them turned and there, standing on the hill with a smug smile on his face, was Orpheus.


	13. There's No Way Out

**A/N: The appearance of Fulvio and the other Black Jackets in this chapter and the rest of the story was inspired by a PM from CRAZYPINKGIRL. Thanks for the idea. – Sauron Gorthaur**

* * *

Chapter 13: There's No Way Out

For a moment, Meggie's mind refused to work properly, simply refused. Where had Orpheus come from? He was in Inkworld, wasn't he? What did he want with them? It took roughly five seconds for all her questions to flash through her mind before she realized the answers. _Stupid Meggie,_ she thought, _why, oh why, did you have to forget him of all people?_

For she had forgotten him. No, she had not forgotten his face or his beautiful voice – sometimes she still had nightmares about him, even though he had not tortured her like he had her father – but she had forgotten that he was more than a nightmare and a bad memory, that he was still dreadfully real. Of course, he had read himself back here. And what did he want with them? Meggie was sure she knew the answer, but she prayed desperately that she was wrong.

In the brief time it took all these things to go through Meggie's head, Darius and Elinor stood staring at Orpheus, and he, in turn, continued to smile at them, pleasure in their shock and fear showing on his pale face. Unsurprisingly, it was Elinor who broke the silence.

"For goodness sake, whatever are you doing here?" she said loudly. "Well, whatever it is, you can turn around and march back to wherever you came from. And you can take that…that beast with you. How dare you threaten those children with it? I was sure you'd frozen in the north or perished long ago, but that seems to have been too much to hope for. How many books have you been leaving dog-eared and upside-down recently? You…you book mangler!"

Orpheus was slightly thinner than he had been and looked a bit older, but other than that he had not changed. His lips still twisted into the same sneer and his eyes still shone behind his glasses as he stepped forward. "Still as vociferous as ever, I see, Elinor, and as obsessed with books, I imagine. Oh, I've been reading quite a lot recently, and all of it out loud." He glanced beyond them to where his dragon was still threatening the two children. "Fafnir is my latest trophy, and not the least dangerous, I can assure you."

He switched his gaze to Meggie and a broad smile flashed across his face. "The Bluejay's daughter, eh," he chuckled. "So, do you still think you're a better reader than I am?"

Meggie looked him back straight in the eyes. "We'll see about that," she answered.

This brought another chuckle from him. "Oh yes, we will see and at your expense. You have no idea how long I have waited for this day. Yes, a very, very long time, but now is not the time for long stories. Don't worry, I won't keep you in suspense for too long."

"Hmph, what suspense? What makes you think we care about you or your stories?" Elinor snorted derisively.

Irritation flickered across Orpheus's face for the first time. "Why should you care? Oh, I believe you do have a reason to care, several very important reasons, the lives of you and your friends and family being high on the list. But, as I said, I will tell you my story and what part you are to play in its continuation in a short while. Right now, let's go see what prizes Fafnir has found today."

Without deigning to tell them anything else, he marched past them, down towards the dragon to which he called, "Back! Back, Fafnir. After all these years of waiting, I wouldn't want my bait damaged."

Meggie looked at Elinor and Darius. The reader was speechless with fright, and Elinor looked speechless with indignation. Meggie only felt numb, a numbness that comes from despair and terror. Mo had told her all about Orpheus's terrible part in the fight against the Adderhead, and she was very aware of how dangerous the pale, blonde man was.

Orpheus looked at Alvino first and smiled broadly. "What luck! The two children of the Bluejay. Yes, definitely you will be most useful. But let's see, what do we have here?"

His eyes traveled over Miranda, and the look that spread itself across his face could only be called evil. "Oh yes," he said in a low voice, "yes, I think I know who you are." He took Miranda's chin between his plump fingers and looked into her face, then laughed. "I couldn't have managed it better if I had read all of you here myself. Both the Bluejay's children and the Fire-Dancer's dear daughter. Oh, I can hardly imagine what your daddy will say when he learns that his child is Orpheus's guest. We all know what he is willing to do when he knows a daughter of his is in danger. And he'll know soon enough."

Miranda's eyes blazed angrily at Orpheus, but fear was also evident in them. Meggie wished she could strike Orpheus, strike him for all the terrible things he had done to her family, but she knew that would be very foolish indeed.

Almost as if he could read her thoughts, Orpheus turned back to the three adults and said, "You will all be coming with me now, and I wouldn't consider trying anything if I were you. Fafnir can fly a good deal faster than any of you can run, and escaping would make me very angry indeed. And I don't think you want me any angrier at all of you than I already am. Twelve years is a long time to let hatred and anger simmer, I can tell you."

"What if we deal with you first before we run off?" Elinor shot back. "There's five of us and one of you, and if you're not around to tell your monster what to do, what will stop us from walking off then, eh?"

"Oh, you're going to kill me, are you?" Orpheus sneered. "Which one of you? Will you hit me over the head with one of your books, Elinor? Meggie couldn't even bring herself to kill Capricorn of all people, and Darius can't do anything right. And it's slightly more than one on my side as you will soon find out. Speaking of which, I don't have all day, so let's be going now."

Before Meggie could make a move, Orpheus had made some signal to Fafnir, and the dragon leapt forward and seized the two children in its claws. Meggie screamed and ran forward towards Orpheus, preparing to do anything to stop him from taking Miranda and her brother, but something struck her from behind and everything went black.

~o~o~

Meggie woke to the feeling of water trickling across her face. Groaning, she sat up and put a hand to the back of her throbbing head. Darius was sitting beside her, holding a jug of water, which he had been wetting her lips with, in his hand. He held it out to her. "Thirsty?"

She took a long drink and felt slightly better. It was very dark – only a pale, flickering light lit her surroundings. "Where are we?" she whispered through dry lips.

Darius leaned back against a stone wall, pulling his legs up to his chest. "Orpheus's castle. I guess that's what you'd call it."

Meggie stared at him. "Castle? What happened? What hit me? Where are the others?"

Darius looked flustered at being bombarded with so many questions and stammered back, "W…well, the others are all asleep over there – it's night now." Meggie looked to where he pointed and saw Elinor, Alvino, and Miranda huddled against another wall. The flickering light, she now saw, was coming from a lit torch high on the stone wall. The room was a dungeon cell, four plain, stone walls, a stone floor, a huge door, and a slit of blackness in one wall that must be a window. Meggie looked back at Darius.

"What's going on?" she said, managing this time to keep her voice steady.

Darius looked miserable. "Just as you were running at Orpheus, another man came out from behind the hill to your left and at one nod from Orpheus, hit you over the head with a shotgun. You collapsed, and Elinor screamed at Orpheus until the new man pointed his shotgun at her. Orpheus said if anyone tried anything else, he'd let the man shoot, that some of us were expendable. And then…"

Darius covered his face in horror at the memory. "Th…then, that dragon beast grabbed the rest of us, you, Elinor, and me, and flew off. I didn't see what happened to Orpheus and the man, but I don't remember much, other than it was awful. I d…didn't know if you were dead or not, and Miranda was crying awfully. We flew for a long time, over trees, until f…finally, we saw a castle on a hill. It looked like the Castle of Night – I wouldn't be surprised if that's where Orpheus got the idea – and the dragon landed right inside the walls. Orpheus was already there somehow. There were other men with him, and Orpheus told them to take us away, that he'd wait until morning to talk to us – it was evening then. Elinor ranted for an hour or so until they brought us food and water, then they all went to sleep."

Meggie rubbed the back of her head ruefully. "So, we're prisoners in a castle that Orpheus has apparently been building for the last twelve years." Darius nodded, and Meggie sighed. "How long has it been since we were thrown in here?"

"F…four hours or more, I don't know," Darius answered dejectedly "I'm s…sorry I was no help."

Meggie patted his shoulder reassuringly. "What could you have done? But, it's all right – I can read us all home right now, using Fenoglio's words." She plunged her hand into her pocket and felt her heart sink as she felt nothing but cloth.

"Orpheus had us searched," Darius said. "He knew we would have something to send us home, so he took the paper away when he found it."

Meggie's brief hope was extinguished. "So, that's it then," she said, hearing the sob of despair in her voice, "there's no way out."

"Not that I can see," Darius answered just as miserably.

Meggie leaned against the wall, careful not to bump her throbbing head on the stones. She heard Darius sigh deeply as she closed her eyes and felt tears squeeze from under her lids. Had she ever felt so alone before? She wanted Mo more than anything else in the world – Mo or Resa. What would they say and do when their children didn't come back? Would they come? But that was evidently what Orpheus wanted – revenge against Mo, so the worst thing that could happen was Mo coming. And if Mo didn't come, would Orpheus just leave them down here until they rotted? More tears ran down her cheeks as she pictured all her loved ones in her mind, Mo, Resa, Doria, Farid. Eventually, she silently cried herself to sleep.

~o~o~

The first thing Meggie heard when she woke was Elinor's voice. "Do you think if we all yelled loud enough someone would hear? Heavens above, it's been almost an entire day since I ate anything. Do they think we can live on nothing but water and musty air?"

Meggie opened her eyes to find daylight trickling in through the slit of a window in the wall. Everyone else was awake, but Elinor was the only one talking. Alvino noticed that her eyes were open and sat down next to her. "Are you all right, Meggie?" he asked. "That man hit you over the head really hard."

She smiled at him. "Yes, I'm all right now. How about you?"

"I'm hungry," he said, rubbing his stomach.

Elinor noticed them and came over to lean on the wall by Meggie. "Darius said you woke up last night and aren't too bad off, for having been hit over the head with a shotgun anyway. Oh, how I'd love to brain that man and his sneering master. Did you recognize him, Meggie?"

"Who? Orpheus?" Meggie asked, puzzled.

"No," Elinor replied impatiently, "that fellow with the gun. Well, of course you didn't. You never saw him because he was behind you, wasn't he? Well, anyway, I could have sworn I'd seen him before, and after thinking about it, I'm positive that he's from Capricorn's gang."

"All Capricorn's men are dead," Meggie answered.

"Yes, well, that's what we thought," said Elinor, "but I mentioned it to Darius and he thinks he recognized the man, too, a fellow called Fulvio. Several of Capricorn's men were read into various books by accident – you remember when Mo read that one into _A Thousand and One Nights_ to replace the boy. What if Orpheus has read some of them back out – the way Darius read Resa back out of _Inkheart_?"

Meggie thought about this for a bit. "I guess that's possible. They would make good allies for Orpheus – I'm sure they hate us anyway. I can't imagine Fulvio enjoyed his time in Farid's story, from what I've heard Farid say about it, and would be happy at a chance to pay Mo back. I don't suppose you've discussed how we could get out of here."

Elinor looked disgusted. "Look around – there's no way out except for that door, and we have yet to see it open since we were flung in here. We were just about to see if anyone out there would notice if we called for some food. Hmph, some vacation this turned out to be. I knew we should have stayed at my house, or even better, in Inkworld. Stuck in a castle dungeon with no hope of rescue. Wonderful."

Meggie felt a small hand slip into hers, and she looked down to see Miranda sitting beside her. The girl looked pale and frightened. "Will no one come?" she asked softly, looking up at Meggie.

Meggie bit her lip, not sure how to answer, but Alvino answered for her. "Someone will come. When we don't get back in time, they'll know something is wrong and they'll come for us. Mo will come, won't he, Meggie?"

"Mo's the only reader left in Inkworld," Meggie replied. "He'll have to stay behind to read anyone here."

"Then Resa will come," Alvino insisted.

Meggie thought about it and smiled. Yes, if a rescue party was sent after them, it was very likely that Resa would come. "Maybe Doria will come with her," she said. "He's always wanted to see this world. Maybe Farid will come, too – I'd feel a lot safer if I knew he was coming." She smiled at the children. "Resa, Doria, and Farid, yes, I bet that's who'll come. They would be able to take care of anything that stood in their way."

The silence that followed was broken by Miranda's weak voice. "I want my parents."

Meggie glanced at her again, her heart sinking for the young girl. At least she and Alvino could expect one of their parents, most likely Resa, but there was little chance that anyone would come for Miranda. Roxane knew nothing of this world, and, well, everyone knew how Dustfinger felt about coming back. She put her arm around Miranda's shoulders. "It'll be all right in the end," she said. "Whoever's writing this story, I can't imagine they'll let it end badly. Just wait and see. We'll beat Orpheus yet."


	14. Strange Voices

Chapter 14: Strange Voices

Being a prisoner in a cell that was only fifteen paces in any direction was very boring, especially when no one was in the mood to talk. As the initial terror of being flung in a dungeon faded, Miranda started to feel listless. Elinor and Darius had dropped off to sleep again, and Meggie was telling Alvino a story, but Miranda didn't want to listen. She walked around the room again. Sixty paces.

As hard as she tried, she couldn't keep guilty thoughts from invading her mind. She could see her father's face, that night in the garden, warning her about this world. _It is not a good world_. That was what he had told her, and he had been right all along. This was a terrible world, a loud, fast world, exactly as he had said, and now it was holding her prisoner, too. How long would it be before she got back? Ten years, like her father? She could not even imagine herself in ten years. What if she never got back, never was able to run to her father and beg him to forgive her for not believing him? She mentally promised herself never to doubt him again.

Another sixty paces took her the circuit of the room again. The murmur of Meggie's voice had ceased, and it was very quiet in the dark room. But not completely silent. At first, Miranda did not notice the voices, but as she stopped pacing, she gradually became aware of them. They were either too far away to hear distinctly or were speaking in a whispering murmur. Miranda listened to them and thought she caught the sound of strange words.

She looked around, puzzled. None of her companions were speaking, but she could have sworn that the voices were coming from close by, speaking her name, whispering things to her. _I'm going mad,_ she thought. _I've only been here two days and I'm already going mad._

_Miranda,_ the whispers came through her desperate thoughts. _Do not fear us. Will you speak to us, daughter of our friend?_

"Meggie," Miranda said loudly to block out the voices. Meggie looked up at the sound of her name, and Miranda hurriedly continued. "Did you say my name? Please, say you said my name."

Meggie looked puzzled. "No, I'm sorry, Miranda. No one said anything." She leaned forward. "Are you okay? You look dreadfully pale."

"There are strange voices," Miranda said shakily. "Can't you hear them?"

Their voices awoke Elinor who grumbled, "Hmph, hear what? I can't hear anything other than you two and the growling of my poor stomach."

"Miranda says she can hear someone," Meggie replied, her eyes still fixed on Miranda. "Can you tell where they're coming from or what they're saying?"

"They're saying my name," Miranda whispered. "They want me to talk to them."

Meggie made a sign for everyone to be silent and for a minute they all listened. Finally, Elinor spoke. "I don't hear anything," she said grumpily. "There's absolutely no voices that I can hear, I assure you. If it's anything, it's probably some trick of Orpheus's anyway. All I can hear is the crackling of that torch up there."

The crackling of the torch. Miranda's head whipped around to stare up at the torch in the wall sconce. The flame flickered against the wall, casting its pale light over the cell, and Miranda heard the voices again, but this time she realized they were speaking a different language, one she had heard on her father's tongue, but had never been able to quite understand until today. _Are you speaking to me?_ She asked, but without moving her lips or making a sound.

_We know you, Miranda Fire-Dancer's daughter,_ the fire replied in its crackling language. _We have waited long to speak to you as we speak to the Fire-Dancer._

_ I don't understand,_ Miranda answered_, I've never been able to speak to you before. I couldn't in Inkworld, but my father couldn't speak to you here._

_ It is different now,_ the fire said_, the blood that was given the Fire-Dancer by the White Women flows in your veins. We had not spoken to you before, but now you are his heir. We speak to you now._

"Miranda?" Meggie's voice was frightened, and Miranda realized that she had been staring unmoving and silent up at the torch for some time now. She managed to tear her gaze away from the fire to look at Meggie.

"It's the fire," she said quietly. "I can talk to it."

Alvino stared at her in amazement and admiration, and Elinor looked doubtful, but Meggie didn't look surprised. "I suppose it's only natural that one of Dustfinger's children would inherit his gift. Can the fire help us, Miranda?"

Miranda felt dizzy with the possibilities of what she could do. She had seen what her father could accomplish with a single glance at the fire, and the very thought that she might be able to do the same astounded her. Looking back up at the fire, she spoke again. _Is there a way out of here? Can you do anything for us?_

The flame wavered, sending dancing light across the room. _You are the Fire-Dancer's daughter, not the Fire-Dancer himself. Our brothers and sisters will not obey you as swiftly as they obey him, and you cannot direct us as he can. But perhaps we may be able to help you, although you would have to burn and flicker as fire to go from here, we think._

_ Please, see what you can do, _Miranda answered. Once again, the fire flickered, then it went out.

There were immediate protests, all from Elinor. "Oh, wonderful! It's gone now and we have to sit here in the dark with nothing but a slit in the wall to see by. We were better off before."

Elinor's complaints woke Darius, who sat up, blinking owlishly. "What's going on? Is it night again already?"

"Miss Matchsticker-eater over there seems to have her father's talent of playing with fire," Elinor huffed. "All she's accomplished is putting out our only torch. You know what they say about playing with fire. Well, maybe no one's been burned, but no good certainly has come from it."

Meggie came to Miranda's defense. "Don't be hard on her, Elinor. We're still in a dungeon, regardless of whether we have light or not. And we don't know what Miranda asked it to do. Maybe it's helping us in some way."

"I asked it to see if there was a way out," Miranda put in sheepishly, feeling guilty. "I'm sorry it went out."

Meggie put an arm around her. "There's nothing to be sorry about. I, for one, am happy to know that we have someone who can control fire in here with us. You'll be as good as your father in no time, I'm sure."

Instead of cheering her up, the talk about fire and her father only depressed Miranda more. She continued to look up at the dark wall and unlit torch, wondering if she would ever be able to tell her father that she could talk to fire, too.

When it was obvious that the excitement was over for then and nothing else was going to happen, everyone settled back down. Alvino came to sit by Miranda, who was still staring moodily up at the sconce. "You never told me you could do it," he murmured to her, not needing to say was "it" was.

"I didn't know until a few minutes ago," Miranda answered, running her fingers over the three scratches on her cheek. "Why didn't my father tell me? He must have known."

Alvino shrugged. "Maybe he didn't want you to worry about it until you were older." He looked suddenly embarrassed. "I've tried to do what Mo and Meggie can do before. Mo and Resa were furious when they found out, but it didn't matter because I couldn't do it. I'm surprised they told me about the ability at all, because they must have known I'd try it out sometime. Maybe your father didn't tell you to keep you safe until you were old enough to control the fire."

Miranda trailed her fingers over the cold stones. He was probably right, but she was too depressed to be completely happy with the answer. "Why did it go out? I just want to get out of here and go home, Alvino."

Awkwardly, Alvino put an arm around her shoulder. "Someone will come for us. And the fire will be back, too. You'll see."

She closed her eyes miserably and leaned back against the wall. "Maybe," was all she said in reply.

~o~o~

The fire was back an hour later. Suddenly, there were dancing sparks on the walls, sending glowing light over the five surprised faces that turned to them. For a second, no one moved, but then Alvino gave a surprised cry.

"Miranda, you're covered in them!"

Miranda looked down at her arms to find red sparks flickering on her skin and clothes. When she shook her hair, they rained down to the floor where they glowed for a few seconds longer before they went out. A soft warmth surrounded her, as if she were wrapped in a blanket, and a heat seemed to rise from within her to her skin. She felt no fear – she knew the fire wouldn't hurt her any more than it ever hurt her father.

She looked up at the torch and sensed the fire all around her. With her mind – or was it her heart – she reached out to it and spoke, feeling the strange fire words within her, summoning it into her presence. The torch flared up at her call and the other sparks faded around it.

_What have you learned? _She asked, feeling confidence in her new-found skill. _Have you found a way out?_

She heard the whisper of many indistinct voices around her, but when the flame of the torch spoke, she heard it clearly in her mind or heart. _We have learned things you may find profitable, Fire-Dancer's daughter. There are but two ways out of this stone castle, for we cannot burn down stone. One is a great gate, guarded by men who cried out and tried to beat us out when they saw us. The other is a tunnel that leads into the woods behind the castle._

Miranda relayed this information to her friends. Meggie nodded knowingly. "Orpheus has read too many stories, I think. An escape tunnel, there's always one in the books. Is it guarded?"

_We saw no men by the tunnel,_ the fire answered when Miranda asked the question.

"I think it sounds far too good to be true," Elinor said when they received this information. "What good does an escape tunnel do us if we can't get to it? After all, we're still locked up in here, and if Orpheus ever does decide to let us out of this blasted hole, you can be sure we'll be guarded. Whatever gave him the idea that he has the right to lock us up? I never had anything to do with messing up his confounded schemes."

Meggie seemed to sense that Elinor was going off into one of her tirades, so she quickly interrupted. "Sooner or later, Orpheus will take us out. I'm sure he'll be all too eager to explain his story and why he has us here. After he tells us, I imagine we'll be sent back down here, accompanied by perhaps a few guards. There are five of us. If we can distract them somehow, one of us could possibly make a break for it."

"And I suppose you have a brilliant distraction plan in mind?" Elinor answered sourly.

Meggie looked over at Miranda. "I think Miranda could provide a distraction with her fire." Miranda returned Meggie's gaze and nodded, feeling warm hope begin to creep through the frozen numbness of fear and despair.

"Who'll escape?" Alvino had been listening eagerly to his sister's plans.

Meggie shrugged. "That will be up to luck, I'm afraid. Whoever has the chance will have to go for it. Alvino and Miranda are the smallest and fastest, so if one of you two can get away, that would be best, I think. Whoever it is should go to the nearest town, get the police, any help they can find."

"With our luck, it will probably be me," Elinor snorted. "Hmph, running was never my forte."  
"However, you could probably help with the distraction," Meggie said. "As soon as Miranda sets something on fire, we can all shout and make the guards as confused as possible. You can shout pretty loud, Elinor, when you want to."

Elinor's lips tightened in a suppressed smile. "Well, if I can do something to make sure we get out of here, I suppose I'll have to be satisfied with that."

There were voices at the door and the sound of a key in the lock. Meggie looked around franticly. "Miranda, put the fire out. Everyone, don't act too soon. Stay calm and wait for our chance."

Miranda had just put out the sparks that covered the walls when the door opened. Three men, all carrying guns, entered the dungeon room, and it was clear from the reactions of Meggie, Elinor, and Darius that all three recognized the man in the lead.

"Hello, Stumbletongue," the man said to Darius. "It's been quite a while since Capricorn's days, hasn't it?"

"F…Fulvio," Darius stuttered.

The former Black Jacket smiled nastily. "So, you remember me. Well, since Orpheus was so nice as to rescue me from that awful book Silvertongue sent me into, I've agreed to help him for a while, especially since he's promised me revenge on Silvertongue. Anyway, Orpheus wants to see all of you now."

The men began to tie the prisoners' hands behind their backs, but Elinor tried to strike out at Fulvio as he tied her. Meggie cast Elinor a meaningful glance though and with one final slap at the Black Jacket, Elinor allowed herself to be bound. As they were herded roughly through the door, Miranda cast one look back at the torch burning on the wall. It flickered and she heard its murmur. _We'll be ready, Fire-Dancer's daughter._


	15. And They Shall Suffer

Chapter 15: And They Shall Suffer

It was not hard to figure out where Orpheus had got the inspiration for his castle. Meggie remembered the dark, dreary corridors of the Castle of Night with their flickering candles all too well. But, instead of the Adderhead's snake emblems, lyres were carved into the wall and flag stones at intervals. The lyre of Orpheus. _How appropriate_, Meggie thought bitterly. Orpheus had built a career on lies. Lies and the pain of other men, her father among them.

Except for the echo of their feet on the stones, it was unnaturally silent in the dark halls. Meggie felt a chill reach into her as if to clutch at her heart. This was even worse than the time she had marched into the Adderhead's hall, because at least that time she had Fenoglio's words still fresh on her tongue. This time there was nothing. Fenoglio's words had been taken away from her and her voice was useless without them.

Orpheus was waiting for them in a room that reminded her, not of the Adderhead's throne room, but of the stories Resa and Mo told her of the Hall of a Thousand Windows in the Castle on the Lake. He stood, looking out one of the many windows that lined the room with his back to them, but as they halted in the middle of the floor, he turned, and to Meggie's distress, she saw that he held a paper in his hand.

He adjusted his glasses carefully with his free hand, smiling in a disarming way. "I'm glad to see that you've come without a fuss," he said, his beautiful voice echoing through the hall. "But I imagine that you must be hungry and curious to know why exactly you are here." He indicated a table which was covered in rich cloths and food. Meggie's stomach gurgled at the sight of it, reminding her that it had been a very long time since she had eaten.

"You must think we're fools!" Elinor raised her voice as she stared in disgust, first at the food and then at Orpheus. "Do you actually think we're stupid enough to eat anything you hand to us? It's probably poisoned or filled with some powder that will allow you to control us."

"Your mind certainly works in strange ways, Elinor." Meggie thought she caught a hint of annoyance in Orpheus's voice. "Why would I have any interest in poisoning you? On the contrary, I know you must be growing hungry by now and I have little use for half-starved guests. I can assure you, everything on that table has been read from the best of books, from the tables of kings, emperors, even gods. If you don't believe me, then very well, see how long you can go without food. I don't think it will be very long, not as long as you are here."

He gave Fulvio a nod, and Meggie felt her hands being freed. She looked over at the table again, smelling the delicious aromas. Summoning up all the dignity and fearlessness she could muster, she strode over to the table, sat, and began to fill her plate from the heaping platters. Her four companions joined her, although Elinor was still muttering darkly under her breath as she did so. The first bite was one of the best things Meggie had ever tasted.

Orpheus seemed pleased, for he came to stand at the end of the table, still smiling in a deceptively innocent way. His face still seemed young, like a child's. "Please, do enjoy yourselves," he said, "and while you eat, I will tell you my story, although, in truth, there is not much to it.

"After the Bluejay and the Fire-Dancer destroyed everything I had worked so diligently to bring about in Inkworld, I fled to the northern mountains. What else was I to do? Violente was no friend of mine, and I doubted that any of the mountebanks would believe my word over that of the Bluejay or the Black Prince. I could have brought peace and justice to Inkworld, lifted them from the dark years of oppression that Fenoglio inflicted upon them, but I knew by then that none of them would listen to me. Although it grieved me that my time in Inkworld had been so brief, I resolved to return to this world, a task which took only a few well-chosen words.

"I returned to this world with a broken heart. Not only had I been driven out of a world I had longed to live in since I was a little child, but the man who had done it to me was none other than the character I had loved most. The more I thought of it, the more I couldn't believe how Dustfinger had treated me. And the Bluejay was little better. How could some man, newly arrived in Inkworld himself, with no right to be there force me out because I wanted to make some sorely needed changes to the story? I would have let him live there in peace had it been I who had won. So, I went to work, to show both Dustfinger and the Bluejay that they could not stab me in the back and expect to get away with it.

"Unfortunately, among many other things, I never got to see the Castle of Night, but I had read its description countless times. I found this secluded forest and here began to reconstruct the Adder's castle from the description I had engrained in my mind. I read men here to serve me from various books, both mercenary soldiers to fight for me and slaves to build my castle, along with the materials for the structure. One day, as I was reading some of the thieves from _A Thousand and One Nights_, who should appear but a man I recognized as being from Inkworld. Fulvio here told me his story, one with which I know you are familiar. I made him my right-hand man, what Basta once was to Capricorn you might say.

"Twelve years I watched my plans slowly coming together. And each of those twelve years, I thought with increasing pleasure what I would do to Dustfinger and the Bluejay once I was finished. Twelve years is a very long time to let hatred and anger simmer inside oneself, and I have made good use of those years in planning my revenge. Of course, I knew sooner or later some of you would grow homesick and return from Inkworld, but I could not have chosen a better time for your arrival. No, I had nothing to do with your coming here, but you will be very useful all the same. For I, Orpheus, am done with the waiting and planning. I am ready for my sweet revenge against Dustfinger and the Bluejay and, believe me, they shall suffer."

No one was eating. The good food lay forgotten on the five plates, as the companions stared at Orpheus in a mixture of disbelief and horror. Not surprisingly, Elinor was the first to comment on Orpheus's grand schemes.

"The man's mad!" she cried. "Raving mad. You don't actually think you'll get away with this, do you? You have no right to do any of this."

"No right!" Orpheus glared at her, all hints of his fake smile now gone. "No right! Who has a greater right than I? I, who worked so hard to better a collapsing world that had been abandoned by its author. I, who was maligned by the character I loved the most. No torment this world can contrive is good enough for Dustfinger who struck down me, his savior, the one who gave him life again, when I had meant only good for him." Meggie thought she actually saw tears behind Orpheus's glasses. "Once I loved him, but I have made sure that it has all been replaced with hate. He destroyed me that day, and in return, I shall not only destroy him, but everything he loves along with him!"

Miranda launched herself at Orpheus, only to be dragged back by one of the guards, screaming. "Don't you dare talk about my father like that. If you hurt him, I'll burn you to a cinder!"

Orpheus let a mocking smile twist his lips. "Oh yes, I'd almost forgotten about you. The guards at the front gate brought me an interesting story earlier, about fire streaking across the wall towards them. But I don't think you'll be doing anything to me, because I don't think you'd want anything to happen to your friends."

He turned abruptly, and when he spoke again, Meggie sensed both impatience and anger in his marvelous voice. "You have heard my story now, and I don't have to waste my breath justifying my reasons for revenge. We'll start now."

Turning back again, he flourished the paper Meggie had seen in his hand when they first came in. "This is the beginning," he announced, "the bait to bring Dustfinger and the Bluejay to me. I am ready to begin my revenge, and to make it a bit more interesting, let's have you read to us, Bluejay's daughter. After all, I've never heard you read before, and I've heard you're quite talented."

The mocking note in his voice was impossible to miss. Meggie stared at him stubbornly as she answered. "I won't read anything that hurts my father or Dustfinger. Read it yourself, but I won't have anything to do with your plans."

"You do realize that you have friends and family sitting right beside you, don't you?" Orpheus sneered. "Don't think I won't hurt them or you if you don't go along with me. I want my revenge to be as sweet as possible, and I would love to see the looks on the Bluejay's and Dustfinger's faces when they discovers that it was you who lured them here and brought them pain. Then they will know what it feels like to be betrayed."

Fulvio pressed his gun into the small of her back, pushing her forward. She was trembling, though she couldn't tell whether it was from rage, fear, or both. Orpheus thrust the paper into her hands, and she looked down at the black words on the page. Ink black words as dark as death itself. Words that spoke of a hatred she could never even imagine. She looked back up and saw the other guards standing behind her friends, ready to act if Orpheus gave the word. They were watching her with pale faces, and Orpheus was watching her too, his hand raised, ready to signal his men if she didn't comply. And if she didn't read, then he would. There was no escape for Mo and Dustfinger, whether she refused or not.

She cleared her throat and lifted the paper to where she could easily read it. Her voice echoed around the hall, strangely steady for one who was reading such terrible words. It was worse than the night she had read out the Shadow, because that night she had hope. There was no hope in these words.

"_Ever since their children had left them to go back to that other world, the Bluejay and Dustfinger had known nothing but fear," _she read. _"Fear that they would never see their children again, fear that some darkness had caught up with them at last. That darkness consumed them, growing stronger each moment that their children were away. But one night, as they lay sleepless, tormented by the dark thoughts that filled their hearts, visions came to them through the darkness. The Bluejay saw his two children trapped and helpless, calling out to him for aid, and Dustfinger saw his daughter lying dead in the other world, surrounded by blood. And Dustfinger knew that if he did not go to her aid, the dream would come true, so he and the Bluejay came swiftly to their children's rescue, little knowing that they would be the ones to suffer and die, smothered in the darkness their own treachery had finally brought down upon them."_

Meggie flung the paper down. She had felt the power in her voice and knew that the words would come true. However, she remembered that day long ago when Mo had read from _Treasure Island_, and she remembered the trick Mo had used to keep Long John Silver in the story. When she had been reading, she had tweaked the words "Bluejay" and "Dustfinger", hoping it would be enough to keep them safe. She had not changed the words too much, fearing that Orpheus was notice, but she had slurred her father's title as much as she deemed safe. To her relief, Orpheus did not seem to have noticed, for he smiled contemptuously at her.

"Very well done," he said, "you really do read quite well, although it was hardly as spectacular as that Arab brat made it sound when he was always going on about you. Well, we shall see if it worked when Dustfinger and the Bluejay arrive at my doorstep, which shouldn't be too long. I don't think either of them will be having a very restful night."

It took all of Meggie's self control not to strike Orpheus right in his sneering mouth, but she knew the consequences would be dire if she did. So, all she could do was stand there, helpless and furious, with the cruel words laying at her feet. Their plan had to work now. Someone had to be at Elinor's house to warn Mo and Dustfinger before they walked straight into Orpheus's trap.

Now that the trap had been set, Orpheus seemed to have lost his interest in his prisoners. He turned to Fulvio and gave the former Black Jacket a dismissive nod. "It will be a few days until our guests get here, and in the meantime, I have no need for our Silvertongue and her friends. Take them back to the dungeons and remember your orders."

Meggie briefly wondered what these orders were before Fulvio grabbed her roughly by the arm and pulled her back to her companions. Her eyes met Miranda's eyes which were filled with anger and fire. The brief glance was enough; Miranda knew her part and was ready.

Orpheus's three men escorted them out of the hall, back down the corridor from which they had come. Fulvio led the way, while his companions went behind with their guns pointed at the prisoners. Finally, they reached a corridor that Meggie had noted on the way up, for it had a large, colorful tapestry hanging on one wall right before a fork in the passages. Meggie gave Miranda a discrete nod.

The fire sprang up so fast that it even startled Meggie who was ready for it. Just as they reached the middle of the tapestry, the whole thing flared up. Fulvio stumbled back against the opposite wall with a shout and one of the guards beat at his clothing which had caught on fire. The remaining guard, who was behind Meggie, turned to face his blazing companion, and Meggie took the opportunity to kick him as hard as she could.

"Run!" she shouted at her companions.

Alvino and Miranda dashed back the way they had come while Elinor and Darius split, each going down one of the passages of the fork. Meggie hesitated for a moment and saw that the fire had spread from the tapestry and was streaking across the wall, down the passage Darius had taken. Meggie started to follow Darius, but a wave of dizziness swept over her, and she stretched out her hand to the wall to steady herself. Just as the world stopped reeling, she felt Fulvio seize her arm and heard his shouts.

"Aldo, get after that old woman – she won't get far. Gaspare, after those children." Although his fingers were digging painfully into Meggie's arm, she couldn't help but smile. No one was going after Darius, and Darius was following the fire to the escape tunnel.

It was not long before the two men were back with a struggling Elinor, Alvino, and Miranda. As soon as Miranda fled, the fire had gone out and only a smoldering tapestry remained. Gaspare, the man whose clothes had caught fire and were still smoldering, looked irritated, but to Meggie's surprise, Fulvio seemed to dismiss their escape attempt as unimportant and did not send the men after Darius. Meggie remembered Orpheus's last words and felt suddenly doubtful.

None of the prisoners made a fuss as they were led back to the dungeon. Trapped between four stone walls once again, they sat on the floor, trying not to think about the future.

"Darius will find his way back and warn them in time," Elinor said, obviously trying to cheer everyone up. "Maybe they can even figure out some plan to get us out of here. Mortimer is a smart man and surely he can think up something after all the books he's read. And as much as I hate to admit that my fate may be in Dustfinger's hands, I will say that I'm sure those clever fingers of his will come in useful."

Meggie didn't want to ruin hope, but she also didn't want their fate to rest on false optimism. "Orpheus meant for one of us to escape," she said quietly. "Those were the orders he gave Fulvio. He meant for one of us to escape to warn them." _To bring them here,_ she finished in her mind. _To send them right into the trap._

Miranda started to cry softly, and Meggie put her arm around the girl. Even though she knew it wasn't her fault, she felt guilty that her voice would lure Orpheus's unexpecting victims into his snare. What a terrible feeling helplessness was. There was nothing to do but wait.

~o~o~

Every moment, Darius expected to hear the sounds of pursuit. He ran as fast as his tired, old legs would take him, wishing he had not been the one who picked the right path. The fire had led him straight to the escape tunnel, but now in the woods, he blundered through the thick undergrowth, hoping he was heading in the right direction. It was awful knowing that he was the only hope, not only for his friends locked up in the dungeons, but also for Mortimer and Dustfinger. Everything depended on his finding them before it was too late.

A thorny vine caught at his pants, tearing a hole in the knee. Stumbling, he forced himself on, sheer determination keeping him on his weary feet. At least, he was not being followed, as far as he could tell. Briefly, he thought this was odd – surely the guards would realize he was gone and they could probably run much faster than he could – but everything else, his weariness, fear, and the ache in his legs, soon drove these thoughts from him.


	16. Tell Me a Story, Dustfinger

Chapter 16: Tell Me a Story, Dustfinger

Darius's story was followed by a deathly silence. No, the sounds around them did not stop – there was still the hum of the vehicles, the shouting children, and the chattering adults – but it was as if there was a sudden silence within Dustfinger's soul, a silence of fear and despair that blocked out everything else, as if the world had just come crashing down around them and there was now nothing.

Resa began to sob quietly, but he was so deep in shock that he barely noticed. He had not imagined in his darkest thoughts that the situation was this bad. He hadn't thought that even Orpheus could have a mind that heartless and vengeful. And Orpheus had Miranda.

"What are we going to do, Dustfinger? He has our children." Resa's voice was shrill with fear and she clutched his hand with a death grip.

He slipped on the mask he had worn for the ten years he was here before, the mask of indifference, so that she would not see his own despair and terror. "We'll rescue them," he stated. "Surely, it won't be the hardest thing we've ever done. How far is Orpheus's castle, Darius?"

Darius took off his glasses and rubbed at them nervously. "It took me three days to get back here, but I'm not very fast and I think I got lost a few times. It only took the dragon four or five hours – I don't know exactly – but, of course, he was flying. I don't know where the castle was, but I know we went south and it was deep in the forest. I'm sorry I don't know more. I should have–"

"Darius, I don't need excuses right now," Dustfinger snapped. "I need directions." The reader quailed at Dustfinger's anger, and he regretted his outburst, realizing that Darius was exhausted, afraid, and as nervous as ever.

"There's nothing more you could have done," he sighed, putting a hand to his brow as he tried to concentrate. "And there's nothing more you can do now. Take the motor bike back to Elinor's house and just wait for us there, okay?"

Darius nodded dumbly, and Dustfinger turned to Resa. "Maybe you should go back with him. I don't need to tell you how dangerous Orpheus is, and I could never forgive myself if you got hurt or killed."

Even as he said it, he knew it was useless. Resa's already-unyielding grip tightened even more. "If anyone should go back, it should be you. You heard what Darius said – you're the one Orpheus is after. You're the one in the most danger. I should go."

_Two can play at this game,_ Dustfinger thought. "Oh yes," he said out loud, "I can just imagine that. You'll be captured, too, and I'll end up having to rescue all of you. I'm the one who set out to do this in the first place, and I'll be the one to finish it, alone if I have to."

Resa turned her head away, and he heard her crying again. Once again, he mentally chided himself for speaking too harshly, and he stroked her hair soothingly as he spoke to Darius, this time making sure to keep his voice calm. "You've done your job, Darius. Wait for us at Elinor's and if we're not back in five or six days, you'll know something's gone wrong. We'll try to come back as fast as we can."

He patted Resa's shoulder and turned her around as she wiped the tears from her face. "Come on. It's a long trip, so we'd better get started right away if we're to get there in a reasonable time."

Without waiting for a reply from either of them, he slung his backpack over one shoulder and started off towards the south end of town. The patter of Resa's feet followed him, and when he glanced back, he saw Darius turn and head slowly back into the bustling village.

The rolling hills soon turned into forest, just as Darius had described. It was not as thick and tangled as the Wayless Woods, but still the uneven ground, bushes, and thorny vines slowed their progress. Dustfinger plunged on, however, heedless of the thorns that caught at his coat. Fear was driving him on and there were few motivators stronger than fear. It clouded his every thought. He was afraid that he would not reach Miranda in time and would arrive to find his dream come true. He was afraid that Orpheus would spin other words to ensnare him in his trap. He was afraid that everything would go wrong and he would never see his loved ones or his world ever again. His heart ached as if weary from carrying such a dark, heavy load.

Resa stumbled behind him, and he suddenly realized he was leaving her behind in his mad rush. Turning, he saw that she had fallen several feet behind him and was breathing heavily, clearly struggling as she tried to keep up with his pace, which had become almost a full run. Gradually, so that she wouldn't notice and be offended, he slowed until she was along side him, although it took a good deal of concentration not to dash off again. He resigned himself to the fact that they would not be able to travel as fast as he would like. Because his own body was still as strong and young as it had been twelve years ago, he sometimes forgot that those around him had continued to age. Although Resa was certainly still fit, she was no longer the young woman he had known in Capricorn's village. He thought briefly about being annoyed, but sighed and dismissed such thoughts – she was doing the best she could and she would have to set the pace for the trip.

On they went, step after step, mile after mile. The forest grew thicker, and since he could no longer see the sun, Dustfinger could only guess what time it was. He called a brief halt for Resa's sake, and she sank to the ground, breathing so heavily that Dustfinger was afraid she was injured. But after she had drunk a little water and rested for ten minutes, it was she who insisted on going on. He smiled grimly as he helped her up and they started off again – if he was worried, how must Resa feel when she knew both her children were held captive? Maybe they would get there faster than he had at first thought.

Whenever his mind turned to Miranda, he felt sick to his stomach. He tried not to picture her lying in some dark dungeon, helpless before the whims of Orpheus. He tried to put his mind to practical purposes, such as figuring out how in the world he was going to sneak into the enemy's castle and steal four captives from under Orpheus's very nose. But the more he thought about it, the more impossible his mission seemed, and his heart continued to sink lower. Everything seemed to slip away until there was only his despair. Everything felt exactly the same as those ten years when he had forgotten the meaning of hope. The same world. The same black misery. The same woman at his side.

And that was another problem. As he remembered all the bitterness he had felt while trapped in this world, the one pleasant emotion he had experienced was coming back too: his love for Resa. He had told himself he was through with her the moment she had chosen Silvertongue instead of him, but even then he knew it was a lie. In truth, it had taken him thirteen years to force those emotions into the depths of his heart where they still lived, suppressed, but very much alive. Ever since they had arrived here, he felt them stirring each time she looked at him, but thus far he had managed to keep them pinned down. No, with all the problems he had to think about currently, it would not do to let his heart get the better of him. He didn't need to be worrying about Resa in addition to his daughter.

He called another halt when he guessed it was about two. Once again, Resa sank down gratefully, and when he sat down beside her, he realized for the first time how tired he was. They shared a bottle of water, then Dustfinger rummaged in his backpack.

"Would you like some sweets?" he asked. "That café we met Darius at was selling some, and I bought a few, thinking we would probably be grateful for something nice a while later. Anyway, maybe the sugar will keep us going. Peppermint?" he said, holding out the wrapped candy to her.

To his surprise and disappointment, she took one look at it and shook her head. "No thanks, I don't care for peppermint very much. I thought you knew that."

He unwrapped the candy, puzzled. He had thought Resa liked most anything sweet. His puzzlement must have showed on his face, for Resa sighed. "It's nothing to do with you. It's just, I'm so miserable already that I don't want to think about Basta, too."

He paused with the candy half way to his mouth and frowned at it. "Oh, I'd forgotten about him. But surely you would have gotten over that in twelve years. I have."

Resa sighed again. "He didn't follow you around everywhere, breathing peppermint into your face and trying to kiss you."

Dustfinger made a face. "Ugh, did you really have to say that? That's an idea that could give me nightmares for weeks. Kissed by Basta." With a shudder, he tossed the offending candy away and dug around in his backpack again. "Well, if you don't like peppermint, would you like some chocolate?"

Resa straightened immediately. "Are you telling me you were offering me peppermint when you have chocolate in there, even after you've known me eighteen years?"

He broke one of the large chocolate bars in half, and for a minute they sat silently, each sucking on the candy. In the silence, Dustfinger's mind returned to its worried brooding after the brief respite it had gained while he was distracted by Resa. Resa had always been his comfort, the one whom he could count on to take away the pain. It was so much more pleasant to think about her than his despair, to remember the past instead of dwelling on the future, and before he realized what he was doing, his arm was half way around her and he was leaning forward to press his face to her dark golden hair.

He become conscious of his action just in time and recovered by leaning forward to pick up his backpack. Resa had just finished her chocolate as he stood and nodded towards the woods. "We should be moving again. I'm hoping we can get there before tomorrow night."

The afternoon dragged by, hour after hour. Dustfinger's mind settled into a numbed state that thought only about keeping his feet moving. He realized it had been many years since the days when he wandered from town to town, and his legs were no longer used to the strain. The soles of his feet felt like they were on fire, and not a friendly fire at that. He wanted to lay down and just sleep, but he was afraid of what dreams the night might bring him.

Just before darkness settled over the forest, they made camp in the first promising clearing Dustfinger could find. If he had been alone, he would have pressed himself further, but he couldn't even imagine how tired Resa must be. As she helped him gather loose sticks from the forest floor, he couldn't help but admire her steadfast endurance, and the last of his qualms about bringing her along vanished.

Once they had a respectable pile of twigs, he summoned the fire mentally and felt some of his tension fade as the familiar red figures rose through the wood. Resa, however, stared in surprise, first at the fire, then at him. "Did you do that?" she asked.

He cocked an eyebrow at her. "No, the little bird in the tree over there did it. Of course, it was me, Resa. Why would you think otherwise?"

"I…I didn't know you could control fire here. You couldn't last time."

Dustfinger pulled out of his pack two of the tin foil packages he had made that morning and laid them in the fire, prodding them into the embers with a long stick. "I've changed since then."

Resa sat down beside him with her back to a log he had dragged over. "I always forget that. Most of the time you don't seem very different."

Dustfinger let his old, mocking smile flicker over his face. "I don't know if that's a compliment, Resa. But if I recall correctly, your compliments were always rather hard to make out."

He saw the corners of her mouth twitch into a smile. He had always found it so easy to amuse her. "I don't have to speak the fire's language now," he said, returning to the original topic of the conversation. "That was the problem before. Don't worry – we'll have fire fighting on our side when we get to Orpheus's castle."

Resa drew her arms around herself and shivered. "Do you think they're all right, Dustfinger? Oh, I hope they're all right."

His heart felt the stab of pain, both for himself and for her, but no, he had promised himself he wouldn't worry about it until they got there. But his heart was always so quick to forget promises. "They'll be fine," he answered. "They're not the ones in danger anyway. Orpheus has done what he wanted with them."

Resa faced him, her eyes full of firelight and doubt. "You and Mo are the ones in danger. Dustfinger, why didn't it work on Mo? Why didn't Orpheus's words work?"

Wound after wound. It was something that had already occurred to him, but he had tried not to think about it. He spoke slowly so his voice wouldn't betray his pain. "I remember your husband had a certain trick to reading aloud when Capricorn made him read. He didn't say some names quite right – I suppose, he thought it wouldn't work that way. Capricorn never noticed, but I have sharper ears than most. I guess his daughter picked up on the trick and changed his name a little. Maybe it didn't completely work since your husband still had the nightmares, but it worked enough to keep him safe in Inkworld."

_But I'm here,_ he thought. Had Meggie even thought of trying to change his name, to protect him? Most likely, she had not even thought of him, but could he really blame her for that? Of course her concern would be for her father, but he would have hoped that she would try to help him, too. It shouldn't hurt this much to think of Meggie forgetting him while desperately trying to save Silvertongue from pain. Over the years, apparently Resa's daughter had found her way too deep into his heart, as it seemed so many others had.

He reached again into his pack and this time pulled out a small pipe that would be a common sight in the hands of any Motley Folk minstrel. It was comforting to hold something from his own world, made by his own folk, and when he put it to his lips and blew, the sound brought back memories of evening campfires and singing players.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Resa look up at him. He began to play a familiar tune, his fingers dancing as nimbly over the holes as the fire danced over his skin. Resa softly began to sing the words that went with the tune. Her singing voice did not have the powerful beauty of Roxane's, but it was gentle and pleasant, and he realized suddenly that he had never heard her sing before. He listened to the words as if hearing them for the first time, although, in truth, he couldn't count the number of times they had soothed him.

"When night is falling and light beams fade

And darkness closes o'er the plains

Sudden fire lights the skies:

The Fire-Dancer's power wanes.

As a lover, he speaks and sings

Words no mortal comprehends.

His fingers caress the living flames

As to his power, the fire bends.

~o~o~

Burning, burning, the fire is turning;

It answers to his voice and glance.

Swirling, swirling, red flames whirling;

See the fire and its master dance.

~o~o~

A crown of fire or flaming hair

As vibrant as the sunset's rays

Light and shadows dance in eyes

Reflecting back the leaping blaze.

Crimson images fill the sky;

Of light and shadows, who shall win?

The fire fades, the dance is done

Until the Fire-Dancer comes again.

~o~o~

Burning, burning, the fire is turning;

It answers to his voice and glance.

Swirling, swirling, red flames whirling;

See the fire and its master dance."

Resa's voice and his tune lingered a few seconds longer, and both stared into the fire, lost in thought. "Do you know when I first heard that song?" Resa's beautiful voice broke the silence. "Benedicta sang it for us in the dungeons of the Castle of Night. I never thought I could be more afraid than I was during that time…" Her voice trailed off, then she looked up at him. "I didn't know you could play music."

He stirred the fire with a stick, then speared the tin foil packages with it. He plucked the hot objects from the stick, not worrying about burnt fingers, and unwrapped his, revealing a ready-made meal of steaming meat, potatoes, and carrots. "Most of the strolling players have more than one talent, many more than two. You pick all sorts of things up when you wander with the Motley Folk long enough. Almost all of us can pluck out a tune on a fiddle or play a pipe, but I never cared for music as much as my fire. I left the music to Roxane."

Why did he have to mention Roxane? So far, he had managed not to think of how miserable she must be. The very name left a sick longing in his heart. Quickly, he opened the other package and laid it beside Resa with a warning. "It's hot. I'm afraid you'll have to use your fingers to eat, but I'm guessing it'll still taste fine."

Shadows crept around the edge of their clearing until they could only see as far as the firelight reached. The small meals were filling, and soon they lay back against the log, tired, aching, weary of heart, but content as far as their stomachs were concerned. Resa laid her head on his shoulder and sighed. "Tell me a story, Dustfinger."

He looked down at her in surprise. "What? Me? You're the storyteller, Resa. You know I'm no good at it."

Her eyes met his. "Maybe I don't always want to be the one telling. What about the times I want to listen? Please, Dustfinger, you must know so many stories from the Motley Folk. Please, will you tell me one?"

His gaze wandered, as it always did, back to the fire. "Yes," he murmured, "yes, I know many stories."

"Tell me your favorite one."

A spark leapt from the fire and died. "There is one," he said in a low voice, "a story I loved more than any of the others."

Her hand slipped into his. Her fingers felt cold against the fiery warmth of his skin. "Roxane said you loved it. I've only heard it a few times, and I've always wanted to hear you tell it. But I didn't think you'd like it anymore."

"Why?" he asked. "Why shouldn't I love it, just because now I know it's true?"

His vision danced with red flames. In his mind's eye, he saw another campfire of long ago, surrounded by strolling players singing songs and telling stories. He saw the two boys seated by the fire, one as black as night, the other with hair like flames, listening enraptured to the bard's tale. Dustfinger's mouth moved in unison with the storyteller's lips and he heard his own voice from far away.

"Once, a very long time ago, when the world was not so old, but not so different from today, there lived a fire-eater," he said. "And that fire-eater had a son, whom he loved more than anything else in the world…"

All about them was darkness, but the fire did not burn down as Dustfinger told his story. He could not guess how long he had been talking when the last words floated into the night and left them in silence. For a long time, neither spoke as the tale brought back old memories. He thought she had dropped off to sleep, but suddenly she stirred at his side and spoke.

"What was the fire-eater's name? Your story never told."

He shrugged. "He doesn't have a name, not in any version I've ever heard, him or his son."

He felt her watching him. "When they tell the story now, he does have a name. Can you guess what they call him, Dustfinger?"

He frowned. "Then they're telling the story wrong." He looked back at her, brows furrowed. "I'm not that fire-eater, whatever they say. That fire-eater never came back, but I did."

She touched his face, the place where once there had been three pale scars. "I was wrong when I said you're not different. You are different sometimes, and then I wonder whether you really did come back. Does it bother you to talk about the time…the time you were dead? You never talk about it."

"No, it doesn't bother me," he answered, "but I know it does bother other people. Roxane, for instance. She doesn't want to think about those months, let alone talk about them. I wasn't the one suffering. It wasn't unpleasant there, not at all."

"You used to be so afraid of dying," she whispered.

"Of Death," he corrected her. "Yes, I was. I was afraid that it would be cold, that there wouldn't be fire, I guess, and I couldn't imagine forever without fire. I used to see dead bodies and be so afraid because they were so cold. I didn't realize they were cold because they took their warmth with them. It's warm there, Resa, and there's always fire."

"Do you want to go back?" There was almost a look of fear in Resa's eyes. "But you won't, will you?"

He squeezed her hand. "Don't worry – I still want to live, even if the White Women sometimes try to lure me back. I'm not ready to die again, not yet."

A smile flitted over her face. "Maybe you are immortal."

He shook his head at such foolishness. "I would think you of all people, the bookbinder's wife, would know how Death feels about immortality. No, someday I'll have to go back because I promised. That was my bargain, my soul for eternity, and even though they released me for a time, someday they'll call me back. And I wouldn't want to be immortal, anyway, seeing everyone I love die around me. I'd rather leave with them, now that I know what awaits me."

Sadness crossed Resa's features. "It won't be Inkworld without the Fire-Dancer."

"Why not?" He shrugged. "I wasn't always there. But if you want to say that writer did some good, then I'll always be in Inkworld, in the book, much as I loathe the thing. And just because I die, that doesn't mean there won't be another Fire-Dancer to replace me."

For a moment, Resa smiled. "No one could ever replace you. There's only one Fire-Dancer."

He smiled back. "Oh, I don't know. I can think of two fairly good candidates. But I'm afraid someday Farid's going to have stiff competition. He may have followed me like a shadow and learned my every trick, but he doesn't have Fire-Dancer's blood."

"Miranda?" Resa asked, wide-eyed.

He nodded. "I knew she'd be like me, even before she was born. How couldn't she be? Whatever it was the White Women used to bring me back with, it's in Miranda now. I've told the fire not to touch her until she's ready, but when she is, the fire will dance for her as it dances for me, and I will teach her all I know."

It seemed as if the silence and darkness went hand in hand. The moment they stopped talking, the blackness of the night seemed to crush around them from each side, kept at bay only by the small fire. Resa shivered, though he could not tell whether it was from fear or the chill night air. "It's so dark," she whispered. "It reminds me of Capricorn's village all over again. Everything."

Dustfinger shifted slightly. So she felt it, too, the same feeling of being held prisoner, being trapped and surrounded by enemies, despairing. _But does she feel it all? _His mind whispered rebelliously. _Does she remember how she felt about you, Dustfinger? After all, there were times in Capricorn's village that even you couldn't call unpleasant…_

Resa didn't seem to notice his silence. She continued on with her thoughts. "I think this is even worse though, not knowing exactly what to expect and what the danger is. At least, in the village, I knew where the danger was and could avoid it. Here, I think every shadow is out to get me. I would almost rather be back in the village than having to go through this."

"No, you don't," Dustfinger answered, trying to make light of the comment. "Capricorn's village was far worse than this, all those years that it dragged on. Compared to Mortola's beatings and Basta's threats, I think this would be a cakewalk."

Resa laughed reluctantly. "It wasn't so bad all the time. We had good times, didn't we? What about sitting in the grass outside the village together while I taught you to read?"

Dustfinger grinned. "Or the time I helped you set that snake outside Basta's door. I swear, you could hear him screaming all through the village."

"Or the evenings you performed your dances for me."

"The day I 'accidentally' set fire to Cockerell's best jacket."

"What about the night you climbed up to my window for a reading lesson because Mortola forbid me to see you?"

Dustfinger did not answer. Yes, he remembered that night very well, but not for the reason Resa had just given. It was that night he had finally told her he loved her. Resa, of course, had not been able to speak then, but she had mouthed the words back to him and he had kissed her, for the first time in years feeling new hope blossom in his heart. A moment later, Resa proved that she, too, had been thinking of the same instant.

"I love you, Dustfinger," she whispered.

"I love you too, Resa," he answered slowly.

The fire crackled, but neither of them spoke again. After a while, Dustfinger realized Resa had fallen asleep on his shoulder. Carefully, he laid her down by the fire, close enough for her to benefit from its heat, but far enough away that she was in no danger of being burned. He slipped his pack under her head as a pillow, then lay down with his back to hers, drawing his coat over both of them like a blanket. He closed his eyes and let sleep finally take away his fears.

~o~o~

"Dustfinger! Dustfinger!"

He was wakened by Resa shaking him and calling his name. The panic in her voice caused him to sit bolt up right. His fire was smoldering, but one thought sent it flaring up so that he could see Resa's pale face and quivering form. He took hold of her arms, steadying her. "Resa! What's the matter?"

"I'm transforming," she answered in a shaking voice. "I didn't think it would happen here."

She moaned softly, and he looked around desperately, but they were alone in the middle of nowhere. "I thought you said it didn't hurt anymore," he demanded, fear once again giving his voice an edge he regretted.

"I said it doesn't hurt as much, not that it doesn't hurt at all," Resa answered as the trembling in her limbs worsened. Already dark feathers were scattered through her hair.

Dustfinger squeezed her tightly in his arms, as if that could keep the bird from forcing its way out of her. "Is there anything I can do?"

Another spasm shook her changing body. "No. I shouldn't have woken you, but I've never transformed alone. Mo's almost always been there with me when it happens. I was afraid. I'm sorry."

All he could do was give her another small squeeze. "It's all right."

It was over in less than two minutes. Dustfinger reached down and picked up the swift from where it lay trembling on the ground. Tiny claws closed around his finger, and he felt a small heart beating rapidly against his skin. He brought her up to his face and gently stroked her feathers. "Resa, how are you?"

"I'm all right now." Dustfinger wasn't sure if he would ever get used to hearing Resa's voice coming out of a swift's beak. "I usually change back by morning, but I don't know if it will be different in this world. I didn't think it would happen at all, and the spasms were worse than usual."

Dustfinger carefully sat down. "There's no point worrying. We'll go on in the morning whether or not you've changed back, so you should try to sleep."

Resa closed her eyes. "Yes, I'll sleep. Oh, Dustfinger, I hope Meggie and Alvino are all right."

Dustfinger lay back down with the swift nestled in his hand. He put his other arm protectively around her – woe betide any night time animal that thought a swift would make a good snack. Soon her heartbeat slowed, and not long afterwards, Dustfinger too slipped back into a much needed sleep.


	17. I'd Risk Anything

Chapter 17: I'd Risk Anything

When Resa woke, she thought she was back at the first house she had lived in after marrying Mo. Perhaps she sensed what world she was in, even in her sleep-confused state, and she had been dreaming of him, of him and Meggie when their daughter had been a little girl. But, as she shook sleep from herself, memories flooded back in, memories of fear and of feathers, and she was relieved to see that she had slipped back into her woman's form sometime during the night. It was not the walls of a long-ago house that rose around her, but forest trees, not a soft mattress beneath her, but dewy grass, and not Mo who stirred faintly behind her, but Dustfinger.

She twisted around to look at the fire-eater, but he was still asleep, his face set in a frown. She wondered if he was having a bad dream or if he was dreaming of Miranda, which set her to thinking about her own children. Her legs ached from yesterday's trip, and the thought of another long day of walking made her sick to her stomach, but she wanted to get to Meggie and Alvino as soon as she could. She laid her head back down on Dustfinger's pack and felt a tear slide down her cheek.

Her movements disturbed Dustfinger, who stirred again and sighed loudly as he slipped an arm about her waist. A moment later, he sighed again and took his hand away, and Resa knew he was awake. She felt his warm breath in her hair as he spoke. "How are you feeling?"

Terrible, was the truth, but she wanted to be off right away and was afraid he would take it easier today out of pity for her. "I feel fine," she lied, hoping he wouldn't be able to tell if he couldn't see her face.

But he chuckled quietly and ran his fingers through her hair. "Do you always stiffen like a block of wood when you lie or do you do it especially for me?"

She rolled over to face him, and even that simple movement sent pain lancing down her back. "I feel like I walked all day yesterday and slept on the ground all night, if you want to know."

He shifted and grimaced. "Surprisingly, so do I. It's been a long time since I slept on the ground. We need a fire and some breakfast."

Both of these were soon acquired, even though Dustfinger and Resa were moving slowly and stiffly. Once Resa let the fire warmth seep through her damp clothes and sore muscles, however, the stiffness wore off, and some bread from Dustfinger's pack energized her. Dustfinger ate very little, but played with the fire as she finished, letting small flames dart up his arms and across his shoulders as he bent and stretched, ridding his body of the aches that came from sleeping on lumpy earth. Then they were off once again.

It was not as bad as Resa had thought it would be. Yes, she was sore, tired, and worried, but the soreness was bearable, the tiredness went away as she walked, and Dustfinger took her mind off her children by telling her stories of the Motley Folk and of his own world. He did it as much for himself as for her – she knew how hard it must be for him to be back here and how much he must be missing Inkworld. She missed it herself. They had passed many hours in Capricorn's village the same way, talking of the places and things they loved, and she was glad he was here with her to bring the same comfort. They had spent little time together in the last twelve years, and she had missed his company – the flickering, strange smile on his lips, his quiet, husky voice, the fire that always lingered in his eyes and touch. Yes, she was glad to be with him, even if he had changed since those long ago days in the village.

Even so, the day dragged on, and she could not completely forget her children and the man who held them captive. Every time she thought of Orpheus with his smile of feign innocence and his honey-sweet voice, shivers ran up and down her spine and she wanted to run as fast as she could, even grow her swift's wings and fly to them. But all she could do was press on, close beside Dustfinger, and pray that they were not too late.

Shadows began to descend around them, and Resa realized they were going uphill. The forest also seemed less dense, and she suddenly recalled that Dustfinger had hoped to get to the castle before this night. With a chill, she wondered if they were close.

Dustfinger had certainly slowed down. He had changed speed for stealth, carefully moving forward with his eyes fixed on the top of the hill which they were rapidly approaching. She tried to mirror him, stepping cautiously and following close behind. By the time they reached the hill top, both were crouching and creeping forward. Dustfinger spread himself flat on the ground, and Resa followed suit, peering over the hill. The other side of the hill was much steeper and devoid of trees – it simply dropped off into rocky ravine surrounded by the forest, an ideal hideout. At the bottom of the rock-strewn valley was a stone fortress that could have almost been a copy of the Adderhead's castle. Resa's heart began to beat rapidly at the very sight of the daunting structure that held her children prisoners.

She looked to Dustfinger. As always, his face was unreadable, but he was squinting towards the castle in the failing light, his eyes scanning the structure beneath him. After a while, he nodded, then tapped Resa's arm and indicated they should go back down. They slipped down to the trees, and Resa turned to her uncommunicative companion. "What are we going to do?"

Dustfinger tapped a finger against his chin thoughtfully, then spoke in a slow, calculating manner. "It's what I thought – Orpheus knows his books well enough to build a fortified castle and it won't be easy to slip in under his nose, especially when he's expecting us. Well, me at least. But it certainly won't be impossible. I was able to slip into the Castle of Night, and that was on the top of a mountain, so assumedly, this would be easier. It's just a matter of sneaking past those walls and getting through those guard-filled halls unseen."

Resa felt hope slipping away as her heart sunk. "Oh, that's all. Well, that sounds encouraging."

Dustfinger grinned at her obvious sarcasm. "You forget who your talking to and that I've done just that before."

She couldn't help but smile back. "Yes, I suppose I do and you have. So, what _are_ you going to do?"

The grim expression returned to his face. "Ah yes, what to do? Well, I can't use invisibility like last time, so I'll have to come up with something else." He paused and looked back up the hill, his eyes distant and thoughtful once more. "It's too late to do anything tonight and I don't want to go blundering around in the dark in enemy territory. I'll have to do some scouting tomorrow morning." It was obviously hard for him to say that. Doubtlessly, he wanted to rush to the castle right then, as did Resa, but both knew it would be too dangerous. "Let's find somewhere safe to spend the night, then tomorrow we can make plans."

Resa sighed deeply, and he squeezed her hand. "I promise you, Resa, you'll see your children before you know it."

He took her firmly by the arm and led her further down the hill, back into the cover of the trees. At the first hollow he found, he jumped in, pulling her behind him. If it wasn't for the fear in her heart, Resa would have liked the place, a mossy niche in the hill with plenty of room to move around without being easily seen by anyone outside. Evening had now closed in around them, but Dustfinger made no move to build a fire. _Of course,_ Resa thought_, a fire would give us away._ But all the same, a fire would have been a comfort in these dark, strange woods.

~o~o~

In the morning, Dustfinger was gone. At first, Resa almost panicked when she looked around and saw no signs of the fire-eater, but then she saw the piece of paper beside her. Picking it up, she saw the large, unsteady letters – Dustfinger's handwriting had never improved drastically. The message was very much in his style: short and to the point.

_Resa, I've gone to look at the castle. Don't follow me. Stay at the hollow and I'll be back by noon. Dustfinger._

She shredded the note maliciously, furious at him for not waiting for her, but knowing there was nothing she could do now. He was gone and there was little hope of her finding him. More likely, she would be captured by Orpheus's men.

At least, he had left her some breakfast, so she ate that, fuming to herself about the scolding she would give him when he got back. He should know by now that she was capable of helping. Surely this mission couldn't be harder than searching the enemy-filled halls of the Castle on the Lake for a single book. How could he be so mean as to abandon her? She tore at the letter's shredded remains in angry frustration.

The sun reached its zenith and still Dustfinger had not showed himself. Resa was on the verge of tears from boredom and worry. When she guessed noon was past, she decided it was time she did something. Dustfinger had not arrived at the specified time, so she convinced herself that she was no longer obliged to follow his instructions. Full of indignation, she left the hollow and began to climb up hill.

She reached the hill top and peered down cautiously at the fortress in the valley. From this distance, she could make out little detail, but she thought she could see glinting helmets and guns on the walls. Her heart told her she was being foolish, but she ignored it and pressed close to the ground to slip over the ridge.

"Quite a view in broad daylight, isn't it? Ever heard the 'if you can see them, they can see you' rule?"

Resa yelped in shock at hearing the quiet voice beside her. Twisting around, she found Dustfinger flat on the hill top next to her, giving her a mocking look. She almost jumped to her feet, but he pulled her flat and put a hand over her mouth, hissing at her. "Stay still and keep low or one of the guards is bound to notice movement up here. I thought I told you to stay in the hollow."

Resa pulled his hand off her mouth angrily. "You left me!"

"And…?" Dustfinger hissed back, equally angry.

She glared. "And you didn't think I would spend the whole day sitting in a hollow, did you? I waited for you, but you didn't come back so I went to look for you."

Dustfinger sighed and slid back over the ridge, dragging her with him, so they were no longer in view of the castle. "I know what I'm doing, Resa. I'm good at sneaking and skulking, remember? I let you come, but you have to listen to me if we're to rescue our children. This is already going to be hard enough as it is. I don't need to be worrying constantly that you're not doing what I told you. You didn't even hear me coming. What if I had been one of Orpheus's guards?"

Resa was suddenly embarrassed as she realized how foolishly she had acted. She changed the subject. "So what did you find? Anything useful?"

Dustfinger nodded back downhill. "I'll tell you back at camp."

Back at the hollow, Dustfinger built a small fire, but made sure it didn't smoke. He slipped another one of his tin foil packages into it, then leaned back against the side of the hollow. Resa desperately wanted his news, but knew he would take his time telling her. She hoped he wasn't still angry at her for disobeying him. But right now, there was no anger in his eyes, only a distant look that he seemed to have acquired after his trip to Death's realm.

"Dustfinger," she whispered, partly to prompt him and partly because that look unnerved her and reminded her of his still, dead face so long ago.

His eyes focused and when he looked at her, she was relieved to see no anger. "I went down right to the walls," he said quietly. "Orpheus has the place well-guarded, I can tell you, probably on the lookout for me, but they won't see me unless I want them to." He grinned briefly. "But even if the guards are dull-eyed enough to miss my shadow, the walls aren't going to disintegrate. They're the true obstacle. How to get inside when we're expected? But get inside we must if we're to find our children." He looked up the hill towards the castle. "Those walls," he murmured, "those walls. There's no body that could get in there."

Resa gave him a look of horror. "But you said…"

He put a finger on her lips. "I said no _body_ could get in."

When she heard his emphasis, his meaning sunk in and panic clutched her. She seized his arm. "No! No, Dustfinger, you can't mean that. You can't do that."

"Why not?" There was a sharpness to his voice, but Resa didn't know if it was annoyance or fear. "I've done it before."

"Once," she answered. "And you almost lost yourself that one time. You said so. You can't risk that again."

"I'd risk anything for Miranda."

Resa knew very well what stubbornness looked like, and right now it was stamped all over Dustfinger's face. She changed her strategy. "Surely there's a safer way to do it. You could look for the tunnel Darius escaped from."

"And have all Orpheus's men waiting for me? No, this is the only way and you know it."

"Send your fire inside the walls to look, the way Miranda did. Send one of your fire animals."

"Would there be a better signal to tell Orpheus I'm here? I have to go myself, and since I can't physically climb the walls and sneak through the castle undetected, I'll have to leave my body behind. You're not going to change my mind, Resa. I decided long ago, and although I may be a coward and a traitor, I'm not indecisive. You know that – you know better than most."

Yes, she knew. She turned her back to him, not sure whether the horrible feelings welling up inside were fear, anger, or a combination of both. But he put his hand on her shoulder and she felt the warmth from his touch spread all the way down to her heart.

"Resa," he whispered, "I'm sorry."

She refused to look at him, even though she knew she couldn't be angry with him for long. He sighed. "Please don't be like this. Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to do this? Do you think I enjoy your pain? Think of Meggie and Alvino."

She did, and the thought brought tears to her eyes. She turned to Dustfinger and hugged him, whispering through her tears, "Come back quickly and tell me they're safe. Oh, please come back."

He slipped from her embrace as effortlessly as smoke. "Don't worry – I don't plan on leaving my body nearly as long as I did last time. Keep a small fire burning in the hollow to guide me back if it makes you feel better, but don't let it grow. I'll find my way back to you easily enough, Resa, and I will have news of our children. But I think I can spare an hour or two before I leave again."

He turned to stir the fire. "Bother!" he said angrily, quickly snatching a stick to spear the tin foil with. Unwrapping it, he revealed the charred remains of what was meant to be their lunch. With a sigh, he tossed it back into the fire. "Oh well, I guess that's what you get for arguing too long. We'll have to do with some bread and apples instead."

The next hour passed slowly and silently with both aware of what needed to be done. After they had finished eating, they sat with their backs to the hollow wall, neither speaking to the other, until finally Dustfinger stood.

"I've put it off long enough," he said. "I'm as ready now as I'll ever be." He looked at Resa. "Maybe you don't want to see," he murmured. "I can go further down the hollow if you don't want to see me like that again."

Resa quickly caught his hand. "No! No, it won't bother me. Please stay here."

He smiled enigmatically, and she saw a strange light in his eyes, but all he said was, "All right, if that's what you want." He settled down, closer to the fire, and laid back against the mossy turf, and Resa knelt beside him, still holding his hand tightly. He gave her hand a small squeeze. "I can still leave if you want." When she shook her head, he smiled again and laid his head back, closing his eyes. "I'll be back as soon as I can. Please, don't worry, Resa."

Even though his eyes were shut and his breathing was already so shallow she couldn't see the rise and fall of his chest, Resa still knew the moment his spirit left him. The slightest sigh escaped his lips, his grip on her hand slackened, and a dreadful stillness came over his face. After a while, his hand went cold.

All that afternoon, Resa stayed at his side, staring down at the unmoving figure and longing for the smallest sign of life. She did not know what soon meant to Dustfinger, but she prayed he would be back before night fell. But evening began to creep through the trees into the hollow, and still Dustfinger lay dead. Dead was the only word Resa could think to use. It didn't matter that she knew he was able to come back this time. Right now, he was as lifeless and spiritless as he had been that terrible night in the mine.

When everything had grown gray around her and she was feeling the night chill, she stood stiffly and walked around the hollow with nothing better to do. She remembered Dustfinger's words about the fire and busied herself for a short time gathering sticks and laying them carefully on the smoldering embers the way she had seen Dustfinger do it many times. Often she glanced over to his body, hoping to see him sitting up, opening his eyes, or at the very least, breathing. But he remained a cold, still form in the darkness.

Resa wrapped her sweater close around herself, shivering in the cold, but afraid to let the fire burn any higher. She feared even the small glow she had created now would attract attention from some unfriendly eyes, but she couldn't bear to put it out. She didn't know whether or not it really would help Dustfinger find his way back, but she wasn't going to risk it. Oh, if only he would come back and then she wouldn't have to worry. "Please come back," she whispered to the shifting trees, but she received no answer.

At last, she took her former position at Dustfinger's side, stroking his hair gently and holding his cold hand. She noticed that even the fire smell had gone from him, and doubt began to stir within her. Maybe something had gone wrong. Surely, he would have been back by now if everything was all right. Maybe, despite his assurances, he had indeed forgotten himself and was now a wandering spirit, forever bodiless. Or perhaps Orpheus had read new words and done something dreadful to him. Tears spilled down Resa's cheeks as she sobbed hopelessly. Laying her head down on Dustfinger's chest, she listened for the faintest traces of a heartbeat while her tears soaked through his coat. "Don't leave me, Dustfinger," she wept. "Oh, please come back." Finally, she cried herself to sleep.

~o~o~

She woke with a start, unsure of what had roused her. Everything was dark, without even moonlight, but night sounds, whirring insects, stirring leaves, and whispering wind, were all about her. Her mind was confused from sleep, and for a time, she lay still, vaguely aware of her strange surroundings. She became conscious of one noise in particular, an odd sound, rhythmic and regular, a slow, steady beat from beneath her left cheek. For a while, she listened to it uncomprehendingly until in a flash, she remembered where her head was lying. On Dustfinger's chest.

His heart was beating again.

Resa sat upright, crying out before flinging her arms around the fire-eater's neck and hugging him close. He groaned and stirred, then fire blossomed in the dark, a single flame hovering next to her, illuminating both of their faces.

"Resa?" he asked, touching her face. "Are you all right?"

"I am now," Resa said with difficulty. "When did you get back?"

"Not long after you fell asleep."

Resa frowned. "How do you know that?"

Dustfinger grinned. "Because my shirt was still wet from all the crying you'd been doing on it. I said I'd be back. Does no one ever believe me when I say that?"

Resa felt suddenly ashamed of her behavior. The horror seemed now a childish fear and her doubt unreasonable. "You had been gone so long, I thought something must have happened to you."

He patted her shoulder. "It took longer than I thought too. Orpheus has a veritable labyrinth in there, but it's done now and no harm came of it. Quite the opposite, in fact."

Resa looked hopefully into his face. "Meggie? Alvino? Did you find them?"

Dustfinger put a finger to her lips. "Shhh, yes, but you'll have to wait until morning to get the details. Being bodiless does strange things to one, and I'm more tired than I've been for goodness knows how long. But don't worry – they're all right for the time being. Now, if you don't mind, I would like a bit of sleep."

Resa settled down on the grass a short distance from him, and the fire by Dustfinger went out. Her own fire had long since smoldered and was nothing more than glowing coals. Now that she no longer had the fire-eater's warmth beneath her, she grew colder and colder, until she was shivering fitfully. She heard Dustfinger stir close behind her. "Are you cold?"

"Yes," she answered in a whisper.

A moment later, his coat descended over her. "There," he said, "that should solve that."

Without thinking, she looked up into his face and asked, "But won't you be cold?" He laughed quietly and the stupidity of her question dawned on her. She giggled at her mistake. "No, I don't suppose you will be, will you? Thank you."

"You're welcome," he grunted as he lay back down with his head on his backpack.

Resa pulled the coat up around her chin and buried her face in it. It smelled strongly of the same fire scent that hung about its owner and was as warm as if it had just come out of a dryer. She wondered what Dustfinger had learned about her children, but he had said they were fine, and if they weren't, he wouldn't be sleeping here calmly. She would learn what there was to learn in the morning and not before, so there was no point worrying. At last, she drifted back to sleep, warm and knowing her friend was safe and breathing once more.


	18. A Bit More Spying

Chapter 18: A Bit More Spying

Resa woke to the sun shining in her eyes. Opening them, she squinted in the beam of direct sunlight that was piercing through the thin foliage over the crest of the dell where they had set up camp. Groaning softly from the aches that came with sleeping on the ground, she sat up and looked about. Her fire from the previous night had long since died, and Dustfinger appeared to be still asleep, lying motionless with his back to her.

The heat had left Dustfinger's coat, but it still provided warmth and smelt strongly of fire. She wrapped it close around her shoulders as she stood and began to gather twigs and branches from the clearing's edge. Dustfinger would be pleased to find a fire already built when he woke up, and Resa was hungry and wanted a warm breakfast. It only took her fifteen minutes or so to replace the charred wood with fresh fuel and to get the fire going with a match. She had always been fond of fire, and she had received plenty of instruction from the master of the art himself.

That master of the art still showed no signs of waking, however, when Resa finished, so she sat down on the grass close by him, watching his face, considering whether or not she should wake him. She desperately wanted news of her children, but he looked so peaceful that she couldn't bear to disturb his rest. He didn't often look peaceful when he slept, and Resa hoped he was having a good dream for once. _He deserves one,_ she thought_, especially after all the hardships he's been through in the past few days._ Gently, she reached out and brushed strands of red hair back from his calm face.

He sighed deeply at her touch and his lips moved. "…fire…lit…?" he muttered.

"Yes," she answered, "I've got the fire ready."

He murmured his wife's name, and Resa felt a twinge of guilt. She removed her hand from his cheek and prodded the fire with a long stick instead. A warm hand slipped into hers, and she turned to see Dustfinger looking up at her through half-closed eyes. "Morning," he said sleepily.

"Good morning," she said, trying to resist the urge of asking him questions about Meggie and Alvino before he was properly awake. That would only serve to irritate him, and she'd probably end up having to wait even longer for answers as a result.

Dustfinger was certainly in no hurry. On the one hand, that indicated that their children weren't in dreadful danger, but on the other hand, it kept Resa in terrible suspense. As the fire-eater yawned and stretched casually and began to toy with the fire with the long stick, Resa wondered if she had already done something to annoy him, and he was keeping her waiting out of spite. Finally, when he had dug two of his tin foil packages out of his backpack, put them in the fire, and was stretching out stiff limbs, Resa broached the subject. "So, what did you find in the castle? How are Meggie and Alvino?"

Dustfinger looked up at her suddenly, and his brow creased. "I haven't told you?"

Resa shook her head slowly, concern for her companion creeping through her thoughts.

Dustfinger sat down and put a hand to his brow. "I'm sorry…you must be dreadfully anxious. I wasn't away from my body very long, but it still confused me, changed my mind, I guess. Everything's so different, and I had the strangest dreams last night." He shut his eyes tightly and shook his head, as if to clear it of the memory of being a bodiless spirit. Resa put a hand on his shoulder.

He opened his eyes at her touch and smiled, not his familiar smile, but a smile that reminded Resa of the calm, sad expression he had worn while he was dead. He took her hand and squeezed it, looking directly into her eyes. "You've done enough waiting, and I remember now. After I left, I found my way to the castle. There were guards everywhere, hidden behind the battlements waiting for me, I suppose, but they didn't see me. I'm afraid it was harder than I thought it would be – my spirit wanted to wander – but there were torches all along the walls, and when I saw them, I remembered who I was and why I was there."

He laughed quietly. "Orpheus isn't as clever as he'd like to think, but it was kind of him to light so many allies for me all over his fortress. Who did he think they would serve, him or the Fire-Dancer? I did not need a body for the fire to know me; I spoke to them, and they told me everything I needed to know. When the guards change. Where they patrol. Even what Orpheus says to his captains in his chamber. Everything. And they knew where the prisoners were kept."

Resa was leaning forward, spell-bound and anxious for news. There was a gleam in Dustfinger's eyes and a confidence in his voice that Resa had not seen or heard since they arrived in this world. For the first time in the last five days, she felt hope stirring in her heart and confidence that their mission was perhaps not as hopeless as it had seemed when they had hurried through the dark forest with their hearts full of fear. No longer did Dustfinger seem the despairing man of Capricorn's village, but the Fire-Dancer who challenged a Night-mare and helped defeat a tyrant.

Briefly pausing in his narrative, Dustfinger pulled the tin foil from the fire and unwrapped it for her. The food was almost too hot to eat, but if felt wonderfully warm in the chill of the damp morning. Dustfinger did not eat, but continued his story, fiddling with the tin foil in his lap so that it crinkled slightly.

"I explored the castle the best I could, but it's a maze in there, just like the Castle of Night. Even with the fire to guide me, it took me a good while to find the dungeons and after that the cell where Orpheus is keeping them. But I found it."

Resa stopped eating, her breath held, staring into Dustfinger's face. "Did you speak to them? How are they? Did you tell Meggie and Alvino that I'm here?"

Dustfinger chuckled and held up a hand. "No, I didn't speak to them. There was a guard outside their cell – Orpheus doesn't want to risk anymore escape attempts, I suppose. I was able to see through a slit in their door, but if I had spoken, the guard would have heard me. Even without a body, I'm sure I could be harmed by Orpheus's words, if he found out I was there. It was dark inside the cell, but I saw them. Elinor was sleeping, I think, and the others were sitting against the wall opposite the door. Meggie was telling them a story, about prisoners escaping a dungeon by getting in empty barrels. It seemed to be cheering them up. Miranda even laughed."

A warm feeling spread through Resa. She could picture the scene Dustfinger described, even hear Meggie's voice softly murmuring a familiar tale, while Alvino and Miranda curled up on either side of her. Despite the gloom of a dungeon cell, it was a mental picture that cheered her. Dustfinger was staring into the fire as he recalled the scene, and she could tell from his tender expression and the warmth in his eyes, that his spirit was greatly lifted. He looked back at her and smiled.

"They're all right, Resa," he said. "I was so afraid I'd find them despairing or dead or not be able to find them at all, but I found them and they're all right. Meggie's just like you – she knows how to cheer a despairing soul, and she always has just the right story to tell. No, I'm not worried about them anymore. We'll rescue them."

Resa stood up. "Do you have a plan?"

Dustfinger chewed on his breakfast slowly and swallowed before answering. "I have an idea, but I don't know if it warrants the name 'plan' yet. And I need to do a bit more spying before I'm sure it can work."

For the moment, Resa's good mood sank. "Does that mean you're leaving me again?" She frowned. "Can't I come with you this time? I'm sure I can be of some use."

Dustfinger finished his breakfast and wadded his tin foil into a ball that he tossed in his backpack, before he stood, giving her a look out of the corner of his eye. "You'll just follow me if I leave you, won't you? Well, come along then, though you had better stay low. And I'll take my coat back now, if you don't mind."

Determined to prove herself worthy of his trust, Resa crept after him, trying to follow his every step and move as silently as he did. But as leaves rustled under her feet and twigs snapped, she truly appreciated what a master of stealth Dustfinger was. He made it look so effortless, gliding over the carpet of dead leaves from countless autumns past as soundlessly as smoke. She wondered if his feet really were touching the earth or whether he could actually glide. Knowing what he was capable of already, she wouldn't be surprised if he could.

However, soon her thoughts were taken away from musing over Dustfinger's abilities, as they rounded the hill and saw the castle lying in the valley before them. Dustfinger crouched low and moved steadily forward, using whatever cover he could find, his drab coat blending with the mottled shadows, and Resa followed, her eyes fixed on the castle. It looked no less grim in broad daylight. _Who would willing choose to live in that place?_ Resa wondered, and she shuddered when she thought of the castle's owner. In a way, Orpheus was far worse than anyone else Resa had encountered before, worse than Capricorn, Basta, the Adderhead, even Mortola. It was terrifying to think to what pains Orpheus had gone just to get revenge. Her confidence waned, and suddenly, she desperately hoped Dustfinger knew what he was doing. The thought of him falling into Orpheus's vengeful hands was terrible.

They halted not far from the castle, behind some tall bushes near the valley floor. The ground was a treacherous combination of dirt and rocks, and the trees and undergrowth thinned out the closer they got to the castle. The combination of fear, age, and the hard work of moving silently was wearing on Resa, and she was happy to sit down, breathing heavily beside Dustfinger, who, she noticed with some annoyance, was not even panting. As she slumped on the ground, he handed her a water bottle.

"Still glad I let you come?" he said mockingly, though not unkindly. "It's harder than it looks, isn't it? Spying isn't going to be your forte." Resa lowered the bottle, disappointed that he had noticed her lack of skill, but he chuckled and stroked her hair. "But you didn't do half bad, and this isn't an easy place to learn. And as long as you don't kick over too many rocks, those guards on the wall tops shouldn't hear you. Ready to go on again?"

Resa nodded, and they slipped from their hiding. Orpheus's men had chopped down the forest all around the castle, leaving the earth bare with nothing to hide behind, so they skirted the castle, staying in the sparse forest fringe and heading towards the eastern wall. Resa could see the gleam of metal on the wall tops, but the guards didn't seem to be looking their way. In fact, they seemed to be talking excitedly among one another and pointing away towards the southern hill slope as Dustfinger and Resa crept around east. She looked back, but could see nothing. However, when she looked at Dustfinger, he was grinning.

"What did you do?" she whispered.

He paused and pointed to the southern slope, and then Resa saw it – a huge deer with curling antlers and a dark red-brown coat in the shadows at the forest's edge. It was the biggest stag Resa had ever seen.

A shot rang through the valley, and Resa ducked in terror, but Dustfinger pulled her up. "They're shooting at the deer," he whispered, "but they can't hurt it, anymore than they can hurt a campfire by shooting into it. It'll keep them distracted, and with any luck, it'll draw one or two of them out here. Follow me."

He led her a little further, until she saw the castle gates looming in front of them. Here a path had been paved through the valley down to the gate, and on either side of the path, there were bushes and some small trees that had regrown since Orpheus had the forest cleared. They hid behind some of these and waited, close by the gates.

Shots continued to ring out, along with excited shouts. Apparently, the guards were very eager for some venison, or so Resa figured from the strains of conversation that she heard. But even though she knew the shots weren't directed at her, the sounds still made her nervous and brought back evil memories that she didn't want to consider, especially right now. Dustfinger seemed as calm as ever, but Resa wondered if his heart was racing just as fast as hers.

She thought she knew his plan. Resa guessed that if men came out, they would try to sneak in once the gates were opened. It didn't seem like a good idea to her, but Dustfinger was better at that sort of thing than she was. She was just about to suggest that maybe she should stay hidden, when a shout went up from the other side of the walls where the stag was. Soon there were pounding feet on the east parapet, and then the gates creaked open.

Five men ran out, all carrying guns. Resa caught her breath when she recognized the lead man as Fulvio. He had never been particularly cruel to her or Dustfinger in Capricorn's village, but according to Darius's story, it would not be a good thing if he noticed either of them. Resa expected Dustfinger to make his move, but when she looked at him, he was still lying low, watching the backs of Orpheus's men as they dashed off towards the south wall. The gate shut.

Resa looked quizzically at Dustfinger. He ignored her look for a few seconds, then turned to her with one eyebrow cocked. "What?"

"What are we waiting for?" Resa whispered. "Are we just going to sit here all day?"

Dustfinger clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "Tsk, tsk, patience. I know what I'm doing."

"Maybe you could let me in on the plan," Resa countered. "I can't be of any use if I don't know what we're doing here."

Dustfinger's eyes flickered over the open area around the south-east corner where Orpheus's men had gone. "We need to capture one or two of them."

Resa made an involuntary sound of surprise, and Dustfinger put a hand to her mouth. "Shh! Yes, I know abduction isn't really along my line of work, but I need a uniform, and if you insist on coming with me, which I know you will, you'll need one, too. I'd rather you stayed, but when's the last time you actually did what I preferred? I can't open doors without a body, and I have abilities I haven't even told Roxane about. One of those is going to be very useful soon, but I need one of those lyre uniforms that the guards wear."

Resa slipped his hand off her mouth, calm once again now that she understood his plan. "So, we're sneaking in as guards?"

Another shot caused her to automatically duck. Dustfinger laughed quietly. "Yes, although I will have to leave you behind, if you shy like a horse every time they shoot. That would certainly tell them that something is up. Now, follow me and do as I say."

Once again, Resa found herself creeping along the murky forest edge behind Dustfinger. When they passed the south-east corner, she saw that Orpheus's five men had pursued the stag into the forest on the southern valley slope. There were still many men on the walls, some straining to see where their companions had gone and some still shouting excitedly, even though they could see neither men nor deer. From the forest, there came an occasional shot and shouting. Apparently, the men where trying to spread out in a circle and surround the stag.

Dustfinger smiled mischievously. "They couldn't even catch a deer that wasn't made of illusive fire. What a racket! But all the better for us."

He turned to Resa and made a sign with his hand for her to stay there. "Watch the walls," he whispered to her. "If any more of them come out or if anything changes give me an eagle's call." Resa barely had time to nod her acknowledgement before Dustfinger slipped into the undergrowth and vanished. For a moment, she was tempted to follow him, but then she fixed her eyes on the walls, knowing he had given her an important job and determined not to fail him. All the same, as the minutes dragged painfully by, Resa could not help but worry, thinking of Dustfinger and all those enemies, each armed with a deadly shotgun.


	19. A Narrow Escape

Chapter 19: A Narrow Escape

Dustfinger wouldn't have admitted it, but he was impressed with Resa. He had been hesitant about letting her come along on a dangerous mission, but she had done much better than he expected. No, she could not move as silently as he could, but she was light and quick on her feet, and he was glad to know someone was watching his back. Memories of desperately searching the Castle of Night with her at his side were coming back strong, and he decided that perhaps he had not been giving her enough credit.

He brushed aside overhanging willow branches and watched the man he was stalking. He was of an average height, slightly shorter than Dustfinger, with a thin frame. He had fair hair, but some of it appeared darker, almost singed in the back. He had a young face, but it was hard and scowling. Dustfinger remembered the boys of Capricorn's village and knew not to assume that because of his youth, he could not be dangerous. He held his shotgun ready and was peering ahead into the thicker undergrowth of the slope. In an arch to the left and right, Dustfinger could hear the other men as they closed in on a thicket some thirty feet away where his fiery deer had apparently taken shelter.

Slowly, the fire-eater inched forward, holding his knife tightly in one hand. He did not want to kill the man, but he knew where to strike with the hilt that would immediately knock him out. And with enemies about, it was always good to have a weapon handy.

Silently, Dustfinger called out to his stag, and the beast moved in the bushes, causing them to rustle loudly. The man stiffened, bringing his gun up to point at the bushes, but he never had a chance to shoot. Dustfinger leapt forward and slammed the knife pommel into the side of the man's head. He dropped like a stone. At the same moment, the stag burst from the bushes at Dustfinger's command and dashed in the opposite direction. There were excited shouts and the four other men chased after it, away from Dustfinger and his captive.

He looked down at the stunned man. The fellow would be all right, save for a pounding headache, but Dustfinger didn't want him rushing back up to the castle with his story for Orpheus the moment he woke up. It would not take Orpheus long to deduce what had happened and who the man's attacker had been. Neither did he want to have to drag him back to the camp. Dustfinger pulled a rope coil out from under his coat where he had stowed it when he left the camp, and, after stripping the man of his gun and shirt embroidered with Orpheus's lyre, he bound him to a tree with a gag in his mouth.

Clutching his trophies, Dustfinger headed back to the south-east corner where Resa was waiting for him. He had been gone for twenty minutes or so already, and he knew she would be getting anxious. After he left the gun and clothes with her, he would find one other man to take a weapon and uniform from. He was pleased with the success of his mission so far – the first man had been easy to take care of.

He saw Resa before she saw him. She was crouching right where he had left her, staring intently up at the wall. Now that the stag and men had moved on up the slope into the thicker forest, the guards had become disinterested and were leaning against the wall, talking among themselves. All the better for him. He slipped through the trees, nearing Resa.

Suddenly, his heart began to race. One of Orpheus's men, Fulvio himself, had stepped out from behind a tree only ten feet away from Resa. His gun was raised, pointing directly at Resa's back. Dustfinger's mind was screaming, and everything around him seemed to slow down. He did the only thing he possibly could.

His knife was still in his hand. He had never had much skill with fighting with any weapon, but he had watched the Black Prince countless times, and his childhood friend had taught him some of the basics of knife-throwing. Instinctively, Dustfinger threw the knife as hard as he could at Fulvio.

Fulvio collapsed with a crunch in the gravelly dirt and dried leaves. At the sound, Resa spun around and clapped a hand to her own mouth to stifle the scream that tried to escape. Dustfinger's head was spinning, and he stumbled as he approached the man, who was lying face down in the dirt, unmoving.

Resa was still frozen, her eyes wide with fear and her hand still clamped over her own mouth. As Dustfinger reached her, however, she collapsed into his arms and buried her face in his shoulder where she began to sob. Dustfinger's heart was still racing from terror as he pulled her close, squeezing her as the realization coursed through him, that if he had been a moment too late, Resa would have died. He kissed her hair, thanking whatever power was watching over them.

Finally, he drew back from her and smoothed the tangled hair from her face. "Are you all right?" he whispered. She nodded, breathing deeply and slowly as she tried to regain her composure. Dustfinger put a hand to his forehead and sank back into the grass. Apparently, Fulvio had grown tired of chasing illusive deer or had been on his way back to get more men. Either way, it had been a narrow escape.

Dustfinger looked over to the crumpled form of Orpheus's second-in-command and felt his stomach twist. An uncontrollable shuddering took him, and he turned away, his eyes suddenly full of tears he couldn't keep back. Then he was crying, almost silently, with tears spilling down his cheeks.

He felt Resa's concerned touch. "Are you all right?" she asked him, tipping his head up and trying to wipe away his tears. "I'm not hurt. Everything's fine now."

"No, it's not," Dustfinger sobbed painfully. "Resa, I just killed a man." He lowered his head again, trying not to think of the lifeless body, trying to block out the image of the knife flying through the air and burying itself in Fulvio.

Resa was shaking – he could feel her quivering hand on his arm. "You saved me," she whispered. "If you hadn't killed him, he would have killed me."

"I know," Dustfinger answered, but all the same he could not stop shaking. "I've never killed before – I wouldn't even kill Basta. I'm not a killer, Resa. I'm just a fire-eater and an occasional thief and spy. I had to stop him, but I didn't mean to kill him."

Now it was Resa who put her arms around him and held him close. Her warmth helped a little with the dreadful chill that had stolen over him. Now that the immediate fear of her own death had faded some, she seemed to have recovered quickly. _But then, she's married to the Bluejay,_ Dustfinger thought. _She is not as unfamiliar with death as I am. And I'm the one who has seen Death face to face. The Black Prince would say I'm compassionate, but Basta would say I'm just weak. Who's right or are they both right?_

What was done was done, and Dustfinger realized that they were not out of danger. Three other men were still wandering about the valley with their guns and probably wondering where their leader and companion had disappeared to. Also, there were the men on the walls, who thankfully had not seen anything through the trees. But it was not a good idea to linger in this place much longer.

Forcing his confused emotions back down into his heart where he still felt a sickness at the thought of his first kill, Dustfinger returned to the present and the business at hand. There was no need now to go after the men for another uniform. Hopefully, Fulvio's shirt had not been too damaged by the knife and would not be blood-stained beyond fixing. Feeling nauseous, Dustfinger knelt by Fulvio and turned the man over. The knife had struck him low on his side, close to his belt. The shirt was a little torn and stained, but not so much that Dustfinger couldn't use it. Carefully, he laid Fulvio out flat on his back, and the man groaned slightly. Dustfinger froze, staring at him, then quickly put a hand over Fulvio's chest. There, faint, but steady, was the throb of a heart beat. Dustfinger could have sobbed from relief.

"He's alive," he whispered to Resa, and she hurried over, surprise written on her face. She investigated the truth of Dustfinger's statement for herself by putting a hand over Fulvio's heart, and her face turned pale.

"We can't just leave him here," she said, looking up at him. "He may not be dead, but he's still injured."

Dustfinger put a hand to his brow, wishing that everything had worked out the way he had planned. He didn't have the heart to leave a badly injured man in that condition, even an enemy, especially when he'd been the one to do the injuring. "Oh, bother it all," he said. "We'll have to take him back to the camp, since we certainly can't send him back into the castle. I've got some bandages in my backpack. But I have a bad feeling about this, and I wish we didn't have to delay."

Resa took the two guns and the uniform shirt, while Dustfinger hoisted Fulvio over his shoulders. He had gagged the man in case he woke before they got away, and a slight groan escaped the cloth as Dustfinger lifted him. He was not terribly heavy, but Dustfinger wasn't looking forward to the trek back to camp.

No further mishap or adventure befell them as they made their way slowly out of the valley, Resa in the lead and playing lookout while Dustfinger plodded stoically behind her and prayed that none of the other three guards would make an appearance. None did, and once they had slipped over the top of the hill, protected from view of the castle by the forest trees, Dustfinger slid Fulvio to the ground and took a breather.

It was well past noon when they finally arrived at their small dell. Dustfinger was irritated by the amount of time they had lost, but he did his best not to show Resa. He could tell she was worried and nervous, and he didn't want to do or say anything that would further her apprehension.

He knew a fair amount about healing, and he set to work on Fulvio as soon as he had lit a fire. He had bandages and ointment stowed in his pack, things he always carried in case of emergencies. Resa asked if she could help, but he shook his head and told her that maybe she should gather some more twigs for the fire. From the look she gave him, it was clear she knew he was just finding an excuse to send her away, but he didn't want her to watch him clean and bind the wound, even though he knew she wasn't overly bothered by such things. She had probably seen far worse after all she'd been through, but he felt it was his duty to protect her nonetheless.

It wasn't as bad as Dustfinger had been afraid it would be. The fact that Fulvio was still alive was proof enough that the knife hadn't hit anything vital. In a short time, he had wrapped a tight bandage about the man's waist, tied his hands and feet together, and laid him out next to the fire. Almost immediately, Resa came out of the forest with a small bundle of twigs in her arms, and Dustfinger knew she had been keeping an eye on him, despite his instructions.

"Is he going to be all right?" she asked hesitantly, looking down at the pale-faced man lying on the grass.

"He'll be fine," Dustfinger grunted as he shoved the remaining bandages back in his pack. "We've given him far more than he deserves. He would have killed you if he had the chance."

Resa sighed. "I know, but I feel sorry for him all the same."

Dustfinger had lost his sympathy for Fulvio as soon as he realized he wasn't dead. He stared at Resa grimly. "Don't be, at least, not until we've rescued our children and gotten safe away. We're the ones you should be worrying about now."

Resa looked back with equal grimness. "Is it time to rescue our children?"

Dustfinger nodded. "Yes, Resa, it's time."


	20. The Right Words

**A/N: The quote in this chapter is from "The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood" by Howard Pyle.**

**I would also like to thank my anonymous reviewers: radha24 and mj. So glad you guys are enjoying it. Sorry, it's taken me so long to update for you, mj, but here it is at last. – Sauron Gorthaur**

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Chapter 20: The Right Words

"No, no, no! This will not do at all!" In a fit of anger, Orpheus flung a crumpled paper upon the floor.

Ironstone peeped carefully from behind an inkwell, his small, gray face showing fear and caution. "Is there anything I can do to help, master?"

"No, there is not!" Orpheus replied angrily. He sat back in his chair, wiping ink-stained fingers delicately on a silken cloth, before lifting a wine bottle to his lips. He took a long swig, then set the bottle roughly back down on his desk. Ironstone ducked behind the inkwell as the desk shook from the impact, aware of the dangers to frail glass men that Orpheus's dark moods could portend. Orpheus glared at the bottle and shoved it away. "They call that stuff wine? I would never have had such poor liquor when I was the Ink-Enchanter of Ombra."

His stomach was burning. There was something that had gone wrong – he felt it in the ache deep in his flesh. And everything had been going so beautifully up till now, he could have almost been happy. But no, he reminded himself, there would be no true happiness until he saw Dustfinger and that high-minded bandit standing in his hall. "They should have been here by now!" he cried. "It's been six days, and there's been neither sight nor sound of either of them."

"It's a long way by foot," Ironstone put in timidly. "They're probably on their way."

"Or not," Orpheus snapped back, bending over the blank sheets of paper before him once again. "Something's not right. I can't find the right words. They won't come at all, not a single sentence."

He mediated over the white sheets for a while, pondering his situation. Ever since he had made the Bluejay's daughter read aloud the words that would bring her father and Dustfinger into his trap, Orpheus had felt that events had gone awry. Of course, that idiot Fulvio had allowed one of the prisoners to escape as he had been instructed, but it had been that old reader. It couldn't have been worse luck, not even if the loud-mouthed woman had got away. That old fool of a reader would take the longest time getting back to lure the Bluejay and Dustfinger to his castle. If that stammering Darius did not make it back in time, he might have very well missed them altogether, and then how would they find their way to the castle? Yes, he was sure by now that they should be here, if they had even come to this world at all.

He thought about the Bluejay's daughter, scowling. How clever he had thought that was, to have her read the words that would doom her father and the Fire-Dancer. But he had pushed his luck, been too pleased with his success and strove too far. Could she have somehow not done it right, ruined his plans? Her family was very apt at that, it seemed. _You should have just done it yourself, Orpheus_, he thought._ But, no, you had to go for flare and a show, and now that could have cost you your revenge._

He wiped his glasses thoughtfully and tapped his pen against the paper. Of course, if he wanted, he didn't have to use ink and pen like he had in Inkworld, but it felt better to use them all the same. He had longed all his life to go into Inkworld, and as filthy and stinking as it had been, it had felt more like home than this dreary world. A time might very well come when he could return, but not until the Bluejay and Dustfinger had been removed, and his copy of _Inkheart_ recovered from that ungrateful, thieving fire-eater. He had hoped to find it in the possession of the Bluejay's daughter, but that was not his luck.

He took another swallow of the bitter wine. Ugh, foul stuff, not any good for someone who had been used to drinking princes' wine. He began to write another sentence on a new sheet of paper: _The Bluejay and Dustfinger heard the rumors of a castle deep in the woods where none had dared to venture for many a year, for the rumors were dark and their fate… _But he ended up crumpling it as well, and hurling it to the floor where it joined its many predecessors. No, it just wasn't right. The words would not come. How annoying! It would be now of all times.

He heard shots from outside the window. Ironstone ducked fearfully, even though the sounds were no where near the room. Orpheus looked at the window of his study in irritation, and when the shots persisted, he rose and went to the window, thrusting his head out and peering about. The sounds were coming from the south end of the valley, and he could faintly hear the shouts of men on the wall top. Fools! Didn't they know that the great Ink-Enchanter Orpheus was working on his most important project? Even a writer with his extensive talent could not be expected to think with such a racket going on outside his window.

He rang the servant's bell on the wall loudly. A nervous-looking maid who he had read out of some book or other in the last few years – he lost track of which of his servants came from which of his numerous books – stepped into the study, bobbing a flustered curtsy. Evidently, she had heard the shots as well. "What are those fools doing down there?" he demanded. "Shooting at squirrels again? Find Fulvio and send him up to me at once."

The maid disappeared, and the gun shots continued to ring out, echoing around the stone walls. A sudden fear clutched Orpheus – surely they were not stupid enough to shoot at the Bluejay or Dustfinger. He had had many dealings with henchmen in the past though, and he was not about to put such stupidity past them.

He had just begun to head for the door when it opened again and one of his officers came in, not Fulvio, but a younger fellow whose name Orpheus couldn't recall. "Whatever is going on down there?" he inquired irately. "Can't you keep them quiet long enough for me to write a few paltry sentences? And where is Fulvio?"

The man stood stiffly, looking slightly to the side of Orpheus as if embarrassed to meet his gaze. "A giant stag just ran out of the trees on the southern slope. Fulvio thought we could bring it down with our guns. He's gone out with Gaspare and three of the others to see if they can catch it."

"I see, the food I provide the soldiers isn't good enough, is that it?" said Orpheus. "If they would stop their infernal noise for a moment, I could provide them with venison that isn't riddled with bullets. Get back to those walls and tell the men to stop shooting – if the Bluejay and Dustfinger are anywhere in the vicinity, they've probably been scared off by now. And I want to see that fool Fulvio up here at once."

The man bowed his head – _Good,_ Orpheus thought_, at least he knows his place in this castle even if no one else seems to_ – and turned towards the door, but a sudden thought caused Orpheus to halt him. "After you've seen to that racket, I want you to go fetch the Bluejay's daughter up from the dungeons. I want a few words with her." The man bowed again and left for good.

Afterwards, the noise from outside ceased. Orpheus seated himself back at the desk, the annoyingly blank pages still glaring illusively up at him. The right words. He needed the right words, but he couldn't write anything when he had no idea of where the Bluejay and Dustfinger were and what they might be doing. For all he knew, they might still be back in Inkworld. Blast it all, he should have read the words aloud himself, and then he would know for sure whether or not their magic had worked.

Sentences and parts of sentences flashed through his mind, but none of them where quite what he wanted. He had considered reading the words aloud after the Bluejay's daughter, to make sure it worked, but he wasn't positive about the effect that reading them twice might have. Words were such fickle things, and more than likely the results of such an experiment would prove disastrous.

In perhaps half an hour or so, the man returned with the Bluejay's daughter. Her lips were pressed tightly together in a pathetic attempt to appear either stubborn or angry, but he clearly saw the fear and apprehension behind her eyes. However before he dealt with her, he addressed his officer. "Where's Fulvio?"

The man hesitated. "No one can seem to find him, and Gaspare's missing, too. They got separated from the others while trying to surround the deer, and no one's seen them since."

Orpheus rubbed his temple with his thumbs wearily. Sometimes he wondered if playing the lord and prince was such a desirable part after all. He would rather play the enchanter, the one behind the scenes who manipulated the foolish princes and made the story bend and twist without having to deal with minions and incompetent servants. Looking back, he greatly preferred the part he had briefly had in Inkworld, where he had been hailed as a magician and had all the power he wanted, but no more. True, bending and scraping before the Adderhead had been less than thrilling, but neither was trying to run a castle when his second-in-command insisted on disappearing at exactly the wrong moments. That was his problem – he had too many things to think about other than his writing. That was why the words would not come.

"Oh, just leave him for now, and if he doesn't show up in a few hours or so, inform me," he sighed. "By the way, did you bring down the stag?" Venison wasn't sounding so bad actually – just the thing to ease the burn in his stomach. Though, with the way his luck was turning out, he'd probably bite down on a bullet.

The man shifted his weight hesitantly, heralding his answer to Orpheus before he actually spoke. "No, it seems to have vanished. When the men came back, they said they had cornered it in a grove, but when they went in, it was gone. None of them saw it leave. But then, they thought Fulvio and Gaspare were on the other side, but they weren't there. It might have gone out through the gap they left."

Orpheus gave a long suffering sigh, perhaps a little over-dramatic for a lost dish of venison, but it seemed to sum up what he felt about the whole situation in general. He slumped back in his chair and waved a hand. "Wait outside the door. I'll call you back in after I've spoken to the Bluejay's daughter."

She had not moved or spoken a word since she came in. She was still looking at him with that stubborn expression. So much like her father, that one, so sure she was playing the hero's role. Yes, doubtlessly she would act the same as the Bluejay, hold her head high, make a great show of not betraying her family and friends for anything, in short: be noble. It was so boring and uninventive. All Fenoglio's heroes were like that – noble and dull (the Bluejay was proof of that) – so he could hardly expect her to turn out any different. Only Dustfinger hadn't been like that, and he had admired him for that, but then even Dustfinger had gone and turned into the boring heroic character that Fenoglio seemed to thrive on. Yes, the villains were much more interesting by far. But that insufferable robber and his fiery shadow had made sure there was no place for such characters in Inkworld. It was a pity, such a dreadful pity.

Pushing his thoughts of disgust and anger into the back of his mind, he turned to the Bluejay's daughter with an innocent smile. "Ah yes, and now a few words with you… Meggie, isn't it? Perhaps we can get some business done, two enchanters of words, masters of the magic of ink and paper and pen, working together for the improvement of both our situations."

She frowned – she really was quite a beautiful woman now, and to think she was the same little upstart who had insisted that she read him into Inkworld – but she answered him in a tight voice. "I don't know what you expect me to say and do. And I don't know why you need _me_ any more. I've read your words for you, but after what Mo has told me about you, I don't expect you to release us. The most you can do is just leave us alone and wait for Mo and Dustfinger to come. You'll have your revenge soon enough, I suppose."

Heavens, she was almost to the point of tears – he could see them shining in her eyes. It was a pity that she had to act that way, since he didn't have anything personal against her. And it was a pity in the first place that her father had insisted on opposing him – he had a feeling that they could have worked well together, two skilled readers, but Fenoglio had messed that up completely. _Maybe I should have read Fenoglio here instead of the Bluejay, _he thought. _It's his words after all that created the Bluejay and caused all this disorder._

"Actually, it is your father and Dustfinger that I wish to discuss with you," he answered her, "them, and the words I had you read to bring them here."

She pressed her lips tightly together, clearly not pleased with his subject choice, but she made no reply, so he continued. "There has been no signs of either of them, and it's been six days since you read those words. I will admit that I'm beginning to grow suspicious. Of course, maybe the problem lies in the fact that it was that old reader who escaped to warn them." She gave a slight start when he said that. Apparently, she had guessed his plan beforehand, but had not expected him to mention it. "If he didn't arrive back at your starting point in time, he wouldn't have been able to direct them here. However, I gave him a good head start on them, and if he did find them, two grown men, desperate to rescue their children, should have been here by now. I may be stuck for the perfect words, but my mind has not been idle, I assure you. I want to know if the words worked when you read them aloud or did you mess them up on purpose to try to protect your father? Are they in this world at all, or are they sitting back in Inkworld, oblivious to any trouble and untouched by my words?"

"You were there when I read," she said coldly. "Couldn't you tell?"

Heavens, she was annoying! Maybe she hadn't changed so much from the day he arrived in Inkworld when she had so impudently suggested that she was a more talented reader than he was. He was feeling less sorry for her. "You needn't use that tone on me, Bluejay's daughter," he answered just as coldly. "Of course, I was there and listening very eagerly. I felt the magic, but only you know whether or not it completely worked. And I think you didn't do it right, intentionally."

She shrugged. "How could I not do it right? I've only read aloud a few times. I'm sure you have discovered all the tricks there are in your many experiments, more than my father and I. You're the one who figured out how to send Dustfinger back after all, when Mo couldn't do it for years."

She was flattering him deliberately, he knew, but annoyingly, it made him want to puff out his chest a little. Maybe, she was right – he could hardly expect her to have figured out any tricks to reading that he had not discovered. But something wasn't right all the same, and he couldn't discount the way the words refused to come when he tried to write about the Bluejay and Dustfinger. Maybe it was because he didn't have the book, but it hadn't stopped him in the past, and he had read _Inkheart_ so many times that he had long passages memorized and he knew Fenoglio's writing style well enough to know what words the writer did and did not use. No, there was something else wrong. And if it hadn't been with his words, it must have been with her voice.

"Indeed, I may have learned many secrets and tricks," he said, "but I am not throwing away the idea that there might be more, and that you or your father may have figured out something I don't know." It was painful to admit that, and to her of all people, but even more painful would be missing his chance at revenge after he'd waited so long. "Tell me what you did," he demanded.

She stood stiffly and straight. "Why do you think I will tell you anything when it will only hurt Mo and Dustfinger? Guess if you like, but I won't tell you anything. And don't think torture will work – I've stood before Capricorn and the Adderhead, and believe me, they were far more frightening than you."

It was a lie. How terrible her whole family was at lying. He smiled thinly and adjusted his glasses. "Perhaps and perhaps not, Bluejay's daughter. However, nobody said anything about torture. In fact, I mentioned that I wished to discuss this with you for the bettering of both our causes."

"I don't see how this helps anyone but you," she interrupted.

He bit back the angry exclamation that desperately wanted to come out. "That is because I haven't told you how it can help you. Perhaps if you hold your tongue for a minute, you will learn something that will benefit you."

She made no move to interrupt him again, and he continued. "Yes, Bluejay's daughter, I will make a deal with you. As you have already pointed out, I have no intentions of releasing any of you as things now stand. This is my proposal: you tell me what trick you used to protect your father and the fire-eater, and I will release that boy and the little girl. You and Elinor will remain here as bait until my guests arrive, but at that time, I will release you two, as well. Otherwise, you will all stay here as prisoners until I decide to let you go, which very well might be never, if you don't tell me your secret."

Her lips trembled and her eyes flashed. "How could you?" she said in a faint whisper.

He shrugged. "A man will do what he must to get what he truly desires. Surely, you learned that from Dustfinger. Though I don't personally see how it's such a hard decision. Your robber father who started all this mess in the first place with his silver tongue and a man who I can't seriously believe _you _would care what happened to. Or your vulnerable aunt, two children, one of which is your own brother, who are in the very spring of their lives, and yourself. Come now, surely that's not a terribly hard choice."

A tear slid down her cheek and her lips trembled even more. "He's my father!" she said. "And for your information, I do care about Dustfinger."

"But not as much as the rest of your family," he replied coolly. "Even if your brother and aunt are not incentives, maybe your mother will be. Think of her, Meggie, left back in Inkworld, and she will never know what became of the rest of her family. Unless Darius manages to get back into Inkworld, which he won't do without the skill of a writer or the book, your mother will be trapped there for all eternity, never knowing why her family disappeared. I'm giving you a chance to return to her, you and your brother and aunt."

For a long time, she stared at the wall, clearly torn. Orpheus watched her, both eager and annoyed. It was now clear to him that she was holding something back from him, and he was desperate to know what the secret was. He could not bear to think that she knew something about reading aloud that he did not. And he wanted the Bluejay and Dustfinger. Oh, how desperately he wanted them.

Finally, she looked him in the eyes. Her face was angry and grief-stricken, but her voice was calm. "Mo means more to me than you can possibly imagine. I would never give you information that would help you harm him. However, you are not only offering me freedom, and I am not Mo's only child. Let me discuss it with my brother at least, although Miranda should have a say also, since her father is also part of the deal. If they are willing to sacrifice their fathers for freedom, I will tell you everything you wish, but if they are with me, you will receive nothing."

He considered her counter-demand. When he knew what she had done, then he would be able to write the words that could bring her father and Dustfinger to him, he was sure. As annoyed as he was with her for delaying her answer, he couldn't help but recognize her request as a reasonable one.

"Fine," he snapped. "You have until tomorrow noon. But I'm warning you, if my guests show up before that time, you will get very used to that dungeon cell."

He called for his officer, and the man stepped inside. Orpheus waved an impatient hand at the Bluejay's daughter. "Take her back to the dungeon. And consider your answer very thoroughly from every side, Meggie. I would if I were you."

The door shut behind her and the man. Orpheus slumped in his chair and sipped his wine. Heavens, his stomach was hurting! And venison had sounded so fine for supper. He flipped open a book that was propped up on his desk and read: _He crept into the pantry and looked about him to see if he could find something to appease his hunger. He saw a great venison pasty and two roasted capons, beside which was a platter of plover's eggs; moreover, there was a flask of sack and one of canary – a sweet sight to a hungry man._

When the food appeared on the desk in front of him, he went to it hungrily, ignoring Ironstone who peeped at it eagerly from beside the inkwell. A sweet sight, indeed! But it would have been sweeter if the Bluejay's daughter had talked. Well, it didn't matter. He would make the words work. He was the Ink-Enchanter, after all! The right words would come, and then they would all pay for their impudence towards Orpheus, the greatest magician of words ever to read aloud. Oh yes, he would have his revenge!


	21. Just Play Along

Chapter 21: Just Play Along

Meggie was able to hold back her tears, but only just, as she was led back down the corridor by Orpheus's guard. The dark halls seemed to press in from both sides, and the ceiling felt as if it was collapsing. She felt dizzy, and when she stumbled, the guard pulled her up sharply. He was keeping a wary eye on her, and she realized that he had been one of the two guards with Fulvio when she and her companions had tried to escape.

She didn't know what to make of her conversation with Orpheus. All she had done was use Mo's little trick of slightly changing the names while reading aloud, but she hadn't even been sure it would work. She had felt the magic of her voice when she read – something had happened, she was sure. Was it possible that she had protected Mo and Dustfinger, and they had not been touched by the dreadful words? Were they still back in Inkworld, safe, unaware of their children's' peril, assuming they would be back in another week? She had resigned herself so much to the fact that they were doomed, that it was an almost unbelievable relief to think that they might be safe, despite her own peril and that of her companions if it proved to be true.

And if the words had worked, as she had supposed, and Mo was here and headed for the castle, then what? Maybe Darius hadn't got back in time, and Mo was wandering aimlessly with no idea where his children might be. Or maybe he was outside the castle this instant, planning with Dustfinger about how to rescue them.

But that was not Mo. It was Dustfinger, perhaps, but not Mo. He was not one to sit outside and plan while his children where locked up. She knew he would turn himself in to rescue them, just as soon as he arrived at the castle. It was what she dreaded. If Mo was here, they would have seen him by now, as Orpheus had said. No, Mo could not be here yet.

And Orpheus had said that he could not write about them. She didn't know much about the subtleties of writing personally, but she had been around Fenoglio enough to understand the basic principles. The magic didn't work unless you used words from the book. Orpheus knew that – he'd been the one to figure it out. But to make the magic work, you also had to know where the people were. Mo had learned that when he had tried to read Resa back out of Inkworld. Of course, he couldn't do anything to her when he assumed she was in the book but was really here. That was it – Mo and Dustfinger weren't in a world that Orpheus expected.

She stumbled again, and the man – Aldo, she seemed to remember was his name – kept her from falling by holding her arm. Her legs seemed leaden, and she was so weary. She wanted to lie down and sleep, even if it had to be on the cold, dungeon floor.

It took a few seconds for her to return to her previous train of thought. Yes, Orpheus was assuming they were in a world which they weren't in, and that was why he couldn't write about them. Well, which world did he think they were in? This world? He would have at first assumed that, but apparently that wasn't the case. He had tried to write about them here, and it hadn't worked. They weren't in this world. Inkworld, then? That was were they'd be if her voice hadn't worked. But Orpheus had clearly tried writing about them there, as well, and nothing had happened. They weren't in Inkworld. Where else could they be? What was she missing?

As these confused thoughts tumbled through her mind, she and Aldo had descended several flights of stairs and arrived in the dungeon corridor. A guard was standing outside her cell, and he slipped a key in the lock when he saw them approaching. However, he didn't immediately open the door, but glanced at Aldo.

"You just missed one of the guards from the south wall. He told me to tell you that they found Fulvio – he just came in the gate. You wanted to see him, right?"

Aldo kept a tight hold of Meggie's arm. "That's right, although it's Orpheus who wants some words with him. Hmph, I wouldn't want to be in his skin – I have a feeling he's going to get a piece of Orpheus's mind for his delays, and not a very nice piece, at that."

The guard swung the door open. "Well, you'll find him in the courtyard, unless he's wandered off and got himself lost again."

A moment later Aldo had shoved her in, and the door shut with a boom behind her.

The faint light from the window slit high in the wall and the low red light of the torch were not enough to see by after the brightness of Orpheus's study. As her sight adjusted to the dimness, she heard her companions moving in the dark, standing and coming towards her.

"Well, what did that dreadful book-mangler want?" Elinor's voice came from a shadowy form to her right.

She felt a small, warm hand slip into hers. She put her arm around Miranda, and slowly walked to the wall, leaning back against it, then slid down to the floor, Dustfinger's daughter still beside her. It felt so good to relax. Another warm body settled on the other side of her, and she heard Alvino's quiet breathing. Elinor sat on the other side of Alvino with a groan. "He didn't do anything dreadful to you, did he, Meggie?" she said, concern evident in her voice. "Are you all right? I swear, if he harmed or threatened you in any way, I'll…" Her voice trailed off, clearly unable to think of a reasonable threat when she was the one locked in a cell. "Well, goodness sake, Meggie, are you all right?" she repeated after a moment.

"Yes. Yes, I'm all right," Meggie replied wearily, leaning her head back against the wall. Her vision had almost completely adjusted to the gloom again. She could make out the individual stones of the wall. "He just wanted to talk."

"Oh, I'm sure he did," Elinor snorted. "I've never seen a man so completely in love with his own voice before. Well, what did he want to talk about?"

"Mo and Dustfinger." She felt Miranda's hand tighten around hers, and Alvino shifted uncomfortably.

"Are they here?" Miranda whispered.

Meggie squeezed her hand. "No, I don't think so. But I don't think they're back in Inkworld either." She proceeded to tell them of her conversation with Orpheus, the deal he had offered her, and her thoughts on the way back to the dungeon.

There was general outrage towards Orpheus's cruel deal. "Meggie, don't tell him anything about Mo!" Alvino said stubbornly.

"Please, don't give away my father," Miranda begged. "I'll stay here – I don't mind that much, if my father's all right."

"You did the right thing, Meggie," Elinor said. "Don't tell that foul book-mangler anything, whether it helps him or not. How dare he make such a ghastly offer? How could he think any of us would trade in a relative or a friend for freedom that we might or might not get? I don't doubt that he would have taken your information and kept us all locked up after all. I wouldn't trust a word that comes out of that man's mouth, as beautiful as he can make his words sound. A real snake, that one."

Meggie felt slightly better when she knew all her companions thought the same as her. "I don't know how much good my information would have done him, anyway," she said. "I know what I did, and I still don't know what to make of the situation."

"Well, don't tell him anything anyway," Elinor said. "I'm sure he'd be able to use it for his own nefarious purposes. And if he knew you tried to ruin his grand schemes, he'd probably just get angry with all of us, and throw us into a deeper, darker dungeon for all eternity."

"Please, don't talk like that, Elinor," Meggie said as Miranda began to whimper slightly. "We don't need to think about things like that. I'm still not giving up hope that Mo and Dustfinger are on their way to help us. But I don't know what to think of the situation. It would seem that they aren't in this world or Inkworld."

"There are other worlds, aren't there?" Elinor said. "Why couldn't they be in another world?"

Meggie frowned, but it was Alvino who answered his aunt first. "Why would they be in another world? We're in this world, not another one. If Meggie's voice worked and they know we're in danger, why would they go somewhere else instead of here? And if Meggie's voice didn't work, why would they leave Inkworld?"

"My father wouldn't leave Inkworld unless he absolutely had to," Miranda whispered.

They were silent for a while, each struggling with his or her own thoughts. Finally, Elinor took in a deep breath. "You said he's trying to write about both of them, Meggie?"

"Yes," Meggie answered, frowning slightly and unsure of where Elinor was going with the question.

Elinor was grimacing with concentration. "What if that's the problem, that he's trying to write about both of them at once? What if _they_ aren't in Inkworld or this world? What would happen if one of them were here and one of them were in Inkworld?"

Meggie considered the idea. "I think you're right," she said after a minute. "I don't think Orpheus could write about them both and make the magic happen, if they weren't in the same world. But why?" she asked, looking at Elinor. "Why would one be here and one still be in Inkworld?"

Elinor was lost for an answer, but Alvino once again wasn't. "It was the way you read it, Meggie!" he said excitedly. "You said you used Mo's trick when reading their names. Well, maybe you did it well enough with Mo that it didn't work on him, and it would have helped that he's not the Bluejay as much he was when Orpheus was in Inkworld, and that the Bluejay was a later, added character. Dustfinger's one of the real characters though, and maybe you didn't change his name as much. It makes sense that you would have been more concerned about changing Mo's name."

"So the magic didn't work on Mo completely, and he's still back in Inkworld, but Dustfinger's here," Meggie said slowly, trying to work out what her brother was saying. "It would explain why Orpheus is having trouble writing about them, and it would explain why nothing's been seen of them yet. Dustfinger's good at staying hidden and scheming. He wouldn't give himself in like Mo would – he'd try to rescue us first."

Miranda's face was shining with new hope. "Then he might be outside the castle this very instant planning on how to rescue us. He's really good at those sorts of things. He'll save us."

Meggie smiled at the young girl, pleased to see hope on a face that had been so sad these last few days. "Yes, maybe so." A new thought came to her, something she had considered unimportant until now. "When I was in Orpheus's study, he was talking to his guard about a deer the men had spotted outside the castle walls. They had been shooting at it, and Fulvio went out with some others to chase it down, but apparently it just vanished, and Fulvio and another man went missing."

She looked around at them. "You remember the fire animals Dustfinger could make, don't you? It seemed a little odd to me that a deer would just run up to the walls of a castle where a bunch of men were standing. What if it was one of Dustfinger's animals, and he was using it as a decoy? That would explain why it vanished."

Miranda clapped her hands together. "Then maybe the plan's already in motion, and he'll be here any moment to save us."

"And he could have gotten rid of that awful Fulvio and the other man," Elinor added. "I never would have thought I'd be so eager to see that matchstick-eater if I'd lived a thousand years. And I won't miss seeing Fulvio again."

"I don't know if Dustfinger had anything to do with Fulvio disappearing," Meggie said. "Apparently, he's back – I heard the guards talking about it before they stuck me back in here."

Elinor sighed. "Oh well, I guess I can't ask for everything."

The initial excitement about the prospect of being rescued faded as Dustfinger made no immediate signs of appearing. Other than talk and sleep, there was very little to do. The day wore on, and the light from the window slit slowly began to dim. Meggie drifted between sleep, dreams, and waking, vaguely aware sometimes of her three companions talking or of faint sounds around her like the crackle of the torch. She saw Mo's face – he was smiling at her. "Shall we pretend we're looking for treasure, like Allan Quatermain or the Bastable children? What do you think we'll find, Meggie?"

She smiled, a child of six or seven in her dreams once again, and put her arms around his neck. "I think we'll find gold."

He grinned and held her. "Gold? We always find gold? What about rubies, or a big diamond?"

"No, gold," she insisted. "Yellow's my favorite color."

"Of course, I'd forgotten that!" Mo said. "Well, gold it is then. Where do you think we should start looking?"

She didn't answer, but laid her head on his chest and slipped away from him to other visions. Her mother, Resa, laughing her musical laugh, wrote with her fingers in the air. _It's so beautiful there in Inkworld_, her fingers said. A baby's face gazed up at her from her arms. His hair was dark as moleskin, and Mo and Resa were smiling. It was raining, and a wet, scarred face was staring at her from the doorway. Fenoglio was scribbling, and her heart was racing as she clutched her mother's note to her breast. Then she was sitting on a bed in her husband's arms, and he was rocking her gently. "Everything's going to be all right. This is wonderful news."

She slipped her arms around him and pressed her cheek to his shoulder. "Are you sure?" she whispered.

"Of course," he laughed. "It happens all the time, you know."

"It just feels so strange all the same," she answered.

He tipped her face up with his fingertips and smiled fondly down at her. "I love you so much, Meggie." He bowed his head and kissed her, and she kissed him back, but there seemed to be rain falling on her hair, and Doria's eyes had turned dark with long lashes like a girl.

When she opened her eyes, there was no light except for the dimly flickering torch. She drew her legs up to her chest and rested her chin on her knees. The sound of heavy breathing told her that the others were asleep.

Not all of them though. Something brushed her arm, and she looked over to see Alvino's face in the faint light. "Are you awake, Meggie?" he whispered.

"Yes," she answered him quietly. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine, I guess," he said. "Meggie, I'm sorry."

She touched his arm. "Why?"

He huddled down next to her. "This is all my fault. If I'd just been happy and stayed in Inkworld, none of this would have ever happened."

"Nonsense," she said. "We don't know that. Orpheus would have found some other way of making his plans work, I'm sure. And you can't say that you alone caused all this. We've all played a part, whether big or small. You could say it's my fault for reading Orpheus into Inkworld or Dustfinger's fault for going to Orpheus to read him back or Mo's fault for reading aloud from _Inkheart_ in the first place or Fenoglio's fault for writing it. Or maybe that was all just fate. No, the only person truly at fault for this is Orpheus, and he'll get what's coming to him, the same way Capricorn did, and Basta, and the Adderhead."

Alvino fiddled with the hem of his shirt. "Were you ever frightened, Meggie? When Capricorn had you locked up or the Adderhead?"

She gave him a playful shove. "Of course, I was. I was frightened out of my wits, because then I didn't know how it was going to turn out. It was only afterwards that I could look back and realize that Mo and Resa and Elinor and everyone else weren't going to let anything bad happen to me. This will be the same way, and twelve years from now, it'll make a good story to tell our children."

Alvino made a face at her. "I'm not going to have any children. I'd have to get married."

Meggie folded her arms and looked down her nose at him. "Really? You might have different opinions about that in a few years. I was only a year older than you when I met Doria."

"Yeah, well, you're a girl," Alvino retorted. "Girls like that sort of thing."

"What about Miranda?" Meggie teased. "Don't you think she's pretty?"

Alvino turned his head away and muttered something under his breath. "I'm not going to marry _her_ – she's like another sister. It would be like marrying you."

Meggie decided to release him from the embarrassing topic. It had served its purpose of lightening the mood. She relaxed again, leaning her head on the wall, but Alvino soon stirred once more. "Do you think Miranda's father is really out there?"

The window slit was just a lighter shade of black in the black wall, but when she stared at it, she thought she could make out stars, but it was probably just her imagination. She sighed. "I don't know. I learned a long time ago that he's not easy to predict. If he was still the way he was when I first knew him, I would say there wasn't a chance, but he's changed since then."

He dropped the hem of his shirt and mirrored her position, leaning back against the wall. "I really wish he'd hurry up. I'm so bored." He sighed heavily. "This hasn't been a very fun vacation." There was a long silence, then he spoke in a whisper. "I want to go home."

Meggie closed her eyes. "So do I."

~o~o~

Breakfast always came slightly before dawn. They would hear the guards moving outside in the passage and usually talking in muffled voices. The door would open, and a man in the lyre uniform of Orpheus would set a tray and a pitcher of water on the ground. The tray usually held decent enough food, bread, slices of cheese, some fruit, but there wasn't much to go around for four people. The last real meal they had had was Orpheus's feast a week ago.

All four prisoners woke early with growling stomachs on the morning of their seventh day of imprisonment. They sat dejectedly on the floor, staring at the door, and faintly hoping that there would be extra food.

Meggie thought about the interview with Orpheus that was scheduled at noon of that day. She had made up her mind that he would get nothing out of her, either about her trick or the reason that Orpheus's words would not work as they had figured it out. But even though her mind was at rest about her answer, she knew Orpheus would not take that answer well, and she was dreading the consequences her refusal would bring. She almost wished he would fetch her early, so she could just get it over with.

Her wish was surprisingly granted. They heard the key in the lock and the sound of the guard's voice saying something that was too muffled by the door to understand. They all looked up, and Meggie heard Elinor's mutter of "at last." The door opened, but it was not the usual tray-bearing guard who stood in the doorway – it was Fulvio.

Orpheus's second-in-command wore a grim expression, and he had a long cut across his forehead that looked fairly fresh. There were dark circles under his eyes as if he had not slept well the previous night. A ring of keys dangled from his hand.

He scowled at them and made a jerking movement with his head, indicating that they should come. Hesitantly, they stood, not sure what was going on.

"Well, come on, let's go," he snapped. "Do I look like I'm in the mood to stand around all day? Orpheus wants to see all of you right away."

Meggie's stomach twisted. Although she had wistfully hoped that the time would be shortened, now that it appeared that it actually had been, she felt ill. She couldn't see any way this would end well, and she had harbored a faint hope that Dustfinger would make an appearance before she had to deal with Orpheus. _I've been in worse situations than this, remember? _she told herself. _It's not like he's going to force me to read a monster like the Shadow out of a book to eat my mother and aunt._

They stepped out into the hall, and their guard closed the door behind them and re-locked it. "Do you want me to come with you, Fulvio? They've already tried to escape once."

Fulvio took hold of Meggie's arm firmly, and Meggie could see a knife glinting in his belt. "I can deal with an old woman and two children, and I'll keep a close eye on this one. She's the ringleader."

"Why do all of us have to go?" Elinor complained as they started up the corridor past the dark rows of cell doors. "Heavens, my legs and back ache. Your master could have the decency to provide us with a few cots, or at least a straw mattress or two, if he's really as good a reader as he feigns."

Fulvio shot her a distasteful look. "You're all coming because that's what Orpheus wanted. Apparently, Miss Silvertongue here made a deal with him and decided to drag the rest of you into it. So, Orpheus wants some words with all of you, so if the girl doesn't talk, maybe one of you others will."

His grip wasn't overly tight on her arm, but Meggie felt angry at him for even touching her. She watched him closely, and suddenly remembered what she had overheard about his disappearance. The cut on his brow was easy to see. "I heard you and your men couldn't even bring down a deer yesterday," she said coldly. "Where'd you get that cut? Did you walk into a tree and go unconscious or something? Or did someone attack you and beat you over the head?"

It was a vague hope that he might say something about Dustfinger as much as a taunt, and she was curious about the cut. However, she didn't actually expect an answer, so she wasn't disappointed. He didn't look at her, but frowned deeply, and she saw his eyes squint as if with anger.

That was all he did for a few seconds. Elinor, Alvino, and Miranda were walking in front of them where Fulvio could keep an eye on them. Meggie was the only one who saw what happened next, and a moment after it happened, she wasn't sure it had. Fulvio reached up and brushed his dark hair back from his face, a normal enough movement, but Meggie was looking directly at him, and she saw that his fingers left a trail of red sparks that vanished a moment after his fingers passed. Her heart leapt.

He cast her a look out of the corner of his eye, and she read the look as if it had been written words. _Don't say anything. Just play along._ She bit her lip to keep all the questions piling up in her mind from spilling out.

They met several of Orpheus's soldiers on the way up. None of them stopped Fulvio, although many cast him curious glances, and some made snide remarks about stags and Orpheus's temper. Apparently, Fulvio had received a good deal of the reader's derision, as Aldo had predicted.

When they arrived at the ground level, instead of continuing up to Orpheus's study, Fulvio steered them towards the main entrance. Elinor looked back at him. "I thought you said we were going up to meet Orpheus," she snapped. "Why are we going outside?"

"I didn't say where he wanted to meet you though, now did I?" Fulvio shot back. "I should think prisoners would be grateful for a chance at fresh air after seven days in a cell."

Elinor turned away, grumbling. Meggie saw Fulvio shake his head slightly, and she thought she heard the faintest hint of a familiar exasperated sigh.

Everyone squinted as they stepped out of the dark interior of the castle into the morning light. The sun had just risen above the trees on the eastern slope, and to the eyes of prisoners who had received little light for a week, it was blinding. It took even Meggie's eyes a minute to adjust to the sudden brightness, even though she had been out of the cell more recently than her companions. A cool breeze tugged her yellow hair, and the light and fresh air lifted her already rising heart until it was soaring. The castle's main gate was in view, and a friend was leading them towards it. They were going to escape.

But the gate was closed. She looked at Fulvio, who had slackened his grip on her arm since they stepped into the courtyard, and saw that he was gazing up at the wall top. "The gate, Gaspare," he called up.

Meggie saw several figures on the wall top, dark silhouettes against the rising sun and several moved towards the pulley that would open the gate in response to Fulvio's call. They began to heave on it, and the door slowly opened. Meggie bit her lip as she watched the agonizingly slow movement that gradually revealed the outside world of trees and freedom. She couldn't believe they were going to make it, that it was going to be so easy.

Elinor was complaining again. "Heavens above, what is this? Are we going for a stroll in the forest with that raving book-mangler? I'm in no mood to play his little games. I just want to get this whole messy business over and done with."

One of the men on the walls had evidently overheard Elinor's loud comments. He leaned over the wall and called down to Fulvio. "Hey Fulvio, where _are_ you going with those prisoners? Orpheus hasn't been down here or at least I haven't see him."

Meggie froze for a moment, but she had no reason to worry. Fulvio lifted his face and scowled at the man. "Which one of us is Orpheus's right-hand man, you or me? Orpheus told me he wanted to see them in the valley. Why do you think it's your business or mine why he wants it that way? And there are other ways out of this castle than by the main gate, especially for an enchanter."

The man made no reply, but shrugged and turned back to the pulley. The gate was open now, but Fulvio didn't move towards it yet. Instead, he hollered up at the wall top again. "Gaspare, get down here and help me with these prisoners. They've made a break for it before, and I don't want to lose track of them in the trees."

One of the men on the wall top detached himself from the others and hurried down the wall steps. Meggie glanced at Fulvio nervously. Why would he want one of the other guards to come with him? Had she been mistaken? Had the sparks in his hair been nothing but her frantic imagination desperate for rescue? She remembered Gaspare, too, the one who had been burned during their escape attempt. He was certainly not going to be friendly towards them.

The man named Gaspare hurried up and stopped in front of them, breathing rather heavily from the effort of opening the gate. It took all of Meggie's self control not to make any sound or sign of recognition. For a moment, she thought her eyes were playing cruel tricks on her, but she looked again and saw that it had been no mistake. It was her mother who was standing before them, dressed in one of Orpheus's uniforms. Her long, dark-gold hair had been cut to above her shoulders, and dressed in masculine clothes, she resembled a young man. She even held herself like a man. It surprised Meggie, but then she remembered that this was not the first time Resa had had to use this disguise, and that she'd gotten very good at it.

Alvino had also recognized their new escort. His eyes went wide and his mouth opened slightly, but with an incredible amount of self-control, he managed to shut it again without making a sound. He turned and looked back at Meggie with a shocked expression, but she just shook her head imperceptibly. He turned back around, but she could see his shoulders shaking.

Resa took hold of Alvino's arm, the same way Fulvio was holding Meggie, and looked into Fulvio's eyes, a grim, determined expression on her face. "Where are we going, Fulvio? Where does Orpheus want them?"

She did a good job of deepening her voice. Meggie wasn't sure she would have recognized it, if she hadn't recognized her mother first. Fulvio answered her quietly. "Just outside the castle in the forest." He shouted up to the men on the wall top then. "This shouldn't take too long – not more than a couple hours I should think. Close the gates after us, but be ready to open them again when we come back. Now, come on, let's go," he said to the prisoners, giving Miranda a slight push with his free hand.

Miranda had been looking curiously at Resa since she joined them, but clearly hadn't recognized her yet. The girl's brow was furrowed as if trying to summon a distant memory, but when Fulvio pushed her, she turned around to glare at him. Meggie couldn't see Fulvio's face, but as Miranda looked into it, her glare melted away, and hope mingled with relief and joy glistened in her eyes. Meggie knew then that the sparks had not been imagined.

Fulvio glanced up at the wall, then back at Miranda, his message clear. She understood, and allowed the dull, depressed look of a prisoner to settle back over her features, but hope remained in her eyes.

Elinor was now the only one who didn't realize they were being rescued. She hadn't bothered to take a close look at "Gaspare" as she was still muttering indignantly to herself. The other three, however, allowed their two escorts to herd them towards the gate, outwardly prisoners, but inwardly tasting freedom already.

They passed through the gate, and Meggie looked up at the trees that covered the eastern slope of the valley. It would be so easy to slip into those trees and be almost instantly lost from sight from the castle wall. They would all get away safely and hopefully never see Orpheus again. It was too good to be true, simply too good.

It was. They had only taken a few steps past the gate, when a voice calling Fulvio's name halted them. Meggie turned around, her heart beating so hard that her chest hurt. _Oh please,_ she thought. _Please, no._

he man, whom Meggie identified as Aldo from the previous day, stopped in the gateway, breathing hard as if he had been running, and looked at Fulvio quizzically. There were five other men, three with shotguns, standing beside him. "What are you doing with those prisoners, Fulvio?" he asked. "Orpheus sent me down to tell you he wants to see all of them in his study immediately."


	22. If Something Goes Wrong

Chapter 22: If Something Goes Wrong

Dustfinger started worrying the minute they were out of sight of his fire. He had left it burning low, smoldering warmly just out of Fulvio's reach. Once again, he pictured the pale face of the injured man with his mouth hanging limply open and white bandages wrapped around his torso. And his hands and feet bound. They were bound with his knots, a Strolling Player's knots, and he knew that few men had the strength or skill to untie them. Certainly an injured man didn't – so Dustfinger had thought as he tied the ropes in complicated patterns around his prisoner's limbs.

But the mind was so deceitful. It loved playing tricks with its owner's emotions. The minute Dustfinger could no longer glance back and see the soft red glow of the fire over the edge of the dell, he imagined Fulvio sitting up, the ropes dropping from his wrists, and dashing back to Orpheus to betray them. He knew it couldn't be true, but his mind loved tormenting him too much for truth to matter.

"I should have tied him to a tree like the other one," he muttered to himself under his breath. But he hadn't had enough rope left to do a good job of it, and he knew that even if he had, he would still be worrying. It was one of the many things he despised in himself – he always had a way of seeing the worst and noticing enemy shadows lurking behind every tree.

"Hmm, what did you say?" Resa asked from just behind him.

"Nothing," Dustfinger grunted.

For the second time that day, they climbed up towards the hill top where they could look down on the valley and Orpheus's castle. It was mid afternoon when he saw the land ahead of them flattening into the hill top, but he stopped before they reached it. Resa gave him a curious look as he pressed the first man's shirt and gun into her hand. "Change into the shirt. Over there – I promise I won't look."

She obeyed, stepping behind a bush to change into the lyre uniform of Orpheus. Dustfinger took the opportunity to change as well, but he shuddered slightly as the garment slipped over his skin. The shirt's previous owner had served two of Dustfinger's worst enemies over the past twenty-two years. He was almost afraid some of Capricorn's or Orpheus's wickedness could contaminate him from it.

It was too small for him, but that shouldn't matter for long, he thought. Sticking a finger ruefully through the thin knife slit low on the shirt's side, he hoped it would escape notice inside Orpheus's castle.

Resa was taking longer than he figured it should take to change shirts. He was about to call out softly to her, when she reappeared, readjusting the belt around her waist and pressing a hand to her chest as if she was having difficulty breathing. As she approached, Dustfinger noticed that her chest was decidedly flatter than usual. He nodded. "Good thinking, Resa. I didn't think about having you bind yourself. I can tell you've done this a few times before, eh? Can you breathe?" he asked with a little concern, as she sucked in breath in what looked to him like a painful manner.

She gave him a small smile. "Yes, I'm fine. I just need to get used to it again, that's all. But there's something else." She faltered, then held out her knife to him. "You'll have to cut my hair, to the length of the hair of the man I'm pretending to be."

"Are you sure?" he asked quietly.

"It's the only way," Resa answered.

He took the knife from her and cut her hair to just below her ears. Immense regret flooded through him as the beautiful, long hair fell to the ground around her. For a moment after it was done, he stared nostalgically at the dark-golden locks on the mossy turf, thinking about how many times he had gently stroked those soft tresses.

"It's just hair," Resa said. "It'll grow back quickly enough." But Dustfinger caught the hint of regret in her voice. When he looked at her, however, he was satisfied with what he saw – without being examined too closely, Resa could now pass as a man. She even looked rather like the man whom Dustfinger had taken the uniform from.

"What about you?" she asked, as he finished his brief inspection. "You can't go in like that. You don't look anything like Fulvio, and that red hair of yours is unmistakable."

He gave her an enigmatic smile. "I told you that I have a few tricks that I haven't even told Roxane about yet. Well, this is one that I've only tried once or twice, but it should deceive Orpheus's men. You aren't the only one who can change forms when necessary."

Resa stepped back as fire appeared before Dustfinger in answer to his mental summons. It swirled and crackled around his feet, then slowly rose, enveloping him in its warm embrace. He felt power seep through his body, energy and strength, and he felt his confidence returning more with each lick of the flames. They rose around him until he stood in a column of fire that streaked over his entire body, burning and leaving behind gray ash on his skin. There was no pain, only a wonderful, intense heat that seemed to soak down into his skin to his very heart. He stood perfectly still with outstretched arms, as the fire molded the ash to his satisfaction.

When it was done, he let the fire fade back into the air from whence it had come, leaving him with a lingering warmth and the disconcerting, strange feeling of change. From the look on Resa's face, he knew he had succeeded in pulling off the difficult trick.

"You look just like Fulvio," she gasped.

He laughed. "Well, then everything should be all right." He lifted a hand to his face and skimmed his fingers across his new features. His hair was shorter and much darker than it had been before, and his shirt was no longer tight.

"How did you do it?" He loved the wonder and curiosity in her voice, and he was touched by pride that he had been able to impress her. But in reply to her question, he shook his head and smiled. "You were standing there. You saw what I did, didn't you? I wouldn't be able to explain it to you, even if I were one who willingly gave away secrets at a whim."

She reached out and touched his brow, brushing aside his hair. "What's this? Are you hurt, Dustfinger?"

His fingers brushed against hers as he touched the cut across his forehead. "No, I'm fine. But I thought it would be wise to have some excuse as to why we were gone when we get to the castle. We can't expect to get in and out again without a few inquires. So if anyone asks, the story is that I ran into a low limb while chasing the stag and blacked out. You noticed that I was missing and went off to look for me. Everyone else had left by the time you found me and I wasn't awake yet, so you stayed with me until I woke. That should satisfy any of the guards that you might have to deal with."

They moved off then, over the hill top and into the woods where only a few hours ago, the real Fulvio and his men had pursued Dustfinger's stag. As they went, Dustfinger outlined the rest of his plan to Resa. "I'm planning on arriving at the time when an evening guard usually starts, around six o' clock. You need to join that evening guard. It probably won't be too rough a job – you'll end up sitting on the wall top with maybe two or three other men nearby. Don't talk to them more than you have to, but don't make them suspicious either. We'll try to find out what your name is as soon as possible, but if luck is with us, none of your fellow night guards will know the man too well. Your job is to stay by those gates until morning.

"Meanwhile, I'll get the prisoners. I doubt I'll be able to do it until early morning without attracting attention, but as soon as I can, I'll get them out and bring them up to the gate. When I call for you, open the gate. I don't know what might happen between this evening and next morning, so just play along with anything I say. If everything goes smoothly, we should be able to slip them out and disappear into the forest before Orpheus knows that anything is amiss."

They slowed their pace so that they would arrive at the desired time. Dustfinger noticed that Resa was shaking slightly. "You're not afraid, are you, Resa?" he said in a teasing voice.

When she looked at him though, he could see the fear in her face. "There's so many ways that this could go wrong," she whispered.

"Just think about the one way that it will go right," Dustfinger answered in a confidence he had not felt an hour ago. He was nervous, but the fire had put a righteous anger in his heart, and the thought of holding his daughter in his arms again, safe and sound, inspired him to bravery. With a sudden impulse, he kissed Resa, gently and fondly. "Whatever happens tonight," he said, "whether good or bad, I'm glad to have known you, Resa. And if something goes wrong, I hope you and your children get back to Inkworld and live out your lives in peace."

What more was there to say? There wasn't anything. Around them, the sunlight was casting longer and longer shadows across the ground. Dustfinger squeezed her hand lightly and slid along the forest floor as gracefully as a shadow with Resa following at his heels.

His eyes scanned the high, dark walls as they approached the gates. Already he had heard men calling from the wall top, and as they walked towards the wooden gates, they swung open before them. Dustfinger had barely enough time to consider the danger that lurked behind those gates, but it was enough time for a brief flicker of doubt to once again rise in his heart. However, before the doubt could take hold or grow to fear, he was hailed by a man who was coming down from the wall top.

"Hoi, Fulvio, where have you been? It's been almost two hours since that stag vanished, and I hear Orpheus isn't too pleased. Aldo was down here looking for you just a while ago. And you too, Gaspare, where did you vanish to?"

The man, who seemed to be the current leader of the watch, did not wait for an answer from Dustfinger or Resa, but waved one of his men down from the wall. "Go and find Aldo. Tell him that Fulvio and Gaspare have decided to show themselves."

It was only when the subordinate had hurried off on his mission that the man approached Dustfinger. Despite Fulvio's technical status as Orpheus's right-hand man, it appeared that other officers of Orpheus's guard were not worried about addressing him in a pert manner. Remembering Basta and the cheeky comments that he often had received from lower Black Jackets, Dustfinger was not particularly surprised by this.

The man swung his gun in an idle manner and looked at Dustfinger quizzically. "Well, Fulvio, what happened? You didn't bring down that stag single-handed and fetch it back for our supper, did you?"

Dustfinger allowed Fulvio's scowl to settle over his face. "I notice that no one bothered to send out a search party to look for me either, did they? I could have been out there lying skewered by the Bluejay's sword or scorched to a crisp by the Fire-Dancer and you lot would have never known. Some guard you amount to."

"Well, you obviously weren't skewered or scorched," the man retorted. "We received a good scolding from Aldo because of you, and if we get in trouble with Orpheus over this, I won't thank you for it. And anyway, I hope you have a better excuse for Orpheus, because he's going to want information, I can assure you, and you can't simply brush him off and accuse _him_ of a bad job."

As the man had been speaking, a group of five men, all armed with shotguns, had issued from the castle entrance and approached. The evening guard. Dustfinger nodded in satisfaction – his timing had been right.

The head of the evening watch strode over to the afternoon watch's leader. "Look's like it's going to be another dreary evening watch, eh Marco. What's this? Is that you, Fulvio? Where'd you disappear to, and where'd you get that cut? Bashed on the head, were you?"

"Gaspare can tell you all about it during your watch," Dustfinger answered gruffly. "He's missed most of his, so he can stand guard with your lot to make up for it. I don't have time to stand around answering questions – I heard Orpheus has been asking about me."

"That he has," the man replied. "I'm glad I'm not in your shoes. He's been in a bad enough mood as it is." Already, Marco's afternoon guard had been replaced with the new evening watch, and Dustfinger saw Resa covertly slip in among the other men as they mounted the steps. Marco gave the new leader a brusque nod, then trooped off back to the castle with his men.

The castle courtyard was a place of bustling activity that evening it seemed. Marco's watch had barely disappeared through the door, when another man appeared and ran towards them. This, Dustfinger surmised, was Aldo.

As soon as he saw Dustfinger, Aldo spread his arms wide. "Where have you been, Fulvio? Orpheus has had me running all over this blasted castle looking for you and doing your jobs. He wants to see you right away, and he's made some sort of deal with that magic-tongued girl. He's furious that the Bluejay and Fire-Dancer haven't showed themselves yet, and you disappearing hasn't sweetened his temper any. Well, are you coming?"

"Watch your mouth, Aldo," Dustfinger snapped back. "Who's Orpheus's second-in-command, me or you?"

Aldo stopped talking, but scowled as he abruptly turned and marched back towards the castle with Dustfinger following. The man was young, probably not out of his early twenties, Dustfinger guessed, and the thought made him feel a burning anger towards Orpheus, the same anger he had felt towards Capricorn when he saw the teenage boys whom the fire raisers recruited to become murderers. _Evil, _Dustfinger thought._ There's no other word for it._

He looked up at the dark structure as he passed in through the main gate. It looked so much like the Castle of the Night. An image flashed before his mind of darting through the Adderhead's main gate, silent and invisible, listening to Farid breathing so loudly that he had been afraid the whole castle would hear, and for a second a smile played at his lips. How he missed that dark, eager face, those nimble fingers so eager to learn. He didn't see Farid often anymore, not now that the Fire-Dancer's apprentice traveled around the country, performing in all the small villages along the way. Dustfinger found that the thought saddened him.

Up through winding staircases and straight ones. Through dark halls lit only by tall, narrow windows. Past rich, arrogant tapestries and watchmen and the symbol of the lyre carved in the walls and the floor. It was just like all castles: claustrophobic, threatening, and haughty. And its lord was just like every other cruel prince. Dustfinger hated the place and longed to run out into the open air and escape the pressing darkness. But his daughter was locked in here somewhere, and he knew he could not leave until he had her safe in his arms.

Finally, when they had gone high up above the courtyard, they came to a door carved with the lyre insignia. The lines of the carving had been painted in with gold paint, and there was further elaborate decoration upon the wooden surface. Aldo knocked hard upon the door and a voice, irritated but as sweet as Dustfinger remembered, came from the other side. "Yes, who is it? You had better have an excellent excuse for interrupting my most important business."

Aldo put his face close to the door. "It's Aldo. Fulvio has returned and is here to see you."

There was the sound of a chair scraping on stone. "Come in," came Orpheus's honeyed voice, but Dustfinger caught the angry edge to the marvelous sound. Aldo pushed the door open, but did not enter, instead indicating with a nod of his head that Dustfinger should enter alone. He did so, taking control of the storm of emotions that were raging through him as he prepared to face his enemy, the one who had dared to threaten his beloved daughter. He knew her life, as well as his, Resa's, and the other prisoners' depended on him to keep his temper and give Orpheus no hint of his true identity.

Orpheus was standing beside his desk, arms folded behind his back and his glasses perched on his nose. There was a smell of alcohol in the room, as well as something that Dustfinger placed as venison. A plate with only the leftover crumbs of a meal and a wine bottle that was almost empty sat on the desk along with scattered papers, a few quill pens, and several books, both opened and closed. Dustfinger's eyes quickly took in everything as he stepped into the chamber and heard Aldo shut the door behind him.

Orpheus was smiling thinly, but it was a mirthless smile. Darius had reported correctly – the reader looked almost identical to the man whose life Dustfinger had helped ruin twelve years ago, except that he appeared perhaps slightly older and more tired. But even so, his pale face still had a boyish quality to it, the same deceptive innocence.

"You went hunting, I heard, Fulvio," he said. "I don't remember giving any instructions of that sort. I also seem to remember expressly ordering that silence be maintained on the wall tops, especially when it comes to guns. If the Bluejay or Dustfinger were anywhere in the vicinity, you and your idiotic men probably managed to scare them off. And then to go and get yourself lost! Are you attempting to make my job as miserably impossible as you can? You are more acquainted than many of my men with the subtleties of my magic, and yet you still cause as much trouble as possible, even though you know I am working on a project of extreme difficulty. If I am to have my revenge – and you yours – then I need someone in this castle who will do their duties while I am hard at work! I can't do everything on my own!"

Although his voice had begun at a low, irritated pitch, during this speech, his voice rose in volume and annoyance until he was yelling at his supposed right-hand man. Dustfinger couldn't care less what Orpheus ranted at him, since it wasn't directed at him anyway, but he plastered an appropriately glum, dull expression on his face. Orpheus's fit of sudden rage seemed to wear on him, for he was breathing heavily at the end of it, and after a few seconds he sat back down rather wearily in his chair. Dustfinger saw a small gray glassman hurry from behind an inkwell, pushing a glass towards Orpheus, who picked it up and took a long draft from its contents. He wiped his mouth daintily with the edge of a white kerchief that lay by his plate and adjusted his glasses before looking back at Dustfinger with an I-can't-believe-I-have-to-deal-with-such-idiocy look. "So," he said in a weary, superior sort of sigh, "where _did_ you disappear to, Fulvio?"

Dustfinger shuffled his feet, staring awkwardly at a place somewhere to the right of Orpheus. He had enough experience from Capricorn's village to know how scolded subordinates acted in the presence of a displeased ruler. "It was a small accident, nothing else," he murmured. "I ran into a low branch and blacked out for a while, that's all."

Orpheus massaged the bridge of his nose underneath his round glasses. There were beads of sweat standing out on his pale brow. "You know what I would do if I was Capricorn or the Adderhead, but lucky for you, I'm not either, and I don't have time right now to go about reading a new second-in-command here. I've made a deal with that foolish, silver-tongued girl. I'm sure she knows the reason why I can't seem to find the right words, and I've agreed to release the prisoners, provided she tells me her secret and how to lure the Bluejay and the Fire-Dancer here."

"Release the prisoners? All of them?" Dustfinger creased his brow in surprise.

"Yes, all of them, you fool!" Orpheus snapped. "As soon as Mortimer and Dustfinger arrive, I will have no further use for them, and I might as well release them as keep them locked in the dungeons having to feed them every day. Unless my…guests prove difficult, in which case I might need to keep the Fire-Dancer's daughter and the Bluejay's children locked up as useful incentives."

Dustfinger came dangerously close to losing it. One of the torches on the wall flickered angrily, but Orpheus did not notice it, and Dustfinger quickly regained control of his powers. _But why not?_ He thought to himself. _Why not unleash your powers on him now? You have every reason to turn him into a pile of ashes. He threatened Miranda…and Resa's children. You could end it all now._

But he could not do it. He could not think the thoughts that would send the fire rushing about Orpheus to embrace him in its deathly grasp. _You're weak, Dustfinger. You have every reason to kill him and end it all, but you're too weak to do it._

Dustfinger's thoughts were interrupted by Orpheus's sugary voice once again. "I've given the girl until tomorrow to think it over, though, heavens, I can't imagine why she needs that long. It's a simple enough decision. I have a feeling they're going to attempt some sort of heroic and utterly useless escape tonight, but if that fire-eating girl does manage to do anything, I want you down in the corridors making sure everything's in order to stop them. And in the morning, I want the magic-voiced girl brought up here to my study. Then we'll see if we can't get the secret out of her. I may not be able to find the right words for the Bluejay and Dustfinger, but I'm sure I can think up some unpleasantries for a stubborn little Silvertongue. More wine, Ironstone – my stomach is still burning."

"Yes, master," the gray glassman said, bobbing and doing his best to pour out another glass.

Dustfinger stood still, staring at Orpheus with hatred boiling in his heart. This man was as bad as Capricorn, as the Adderhead, as Basta. He wished he had the strength to kill him, but it was not his part to kill it seemed. That was for the Black Prince, the Bluejay, Fenoglio, but not the Fire-Dancer. He had not come to kill Orpheus, but to rescue his daughter and friends. _You're so foolish, _his thoughts said. _There's no one here to kill him but you, and if you do not do it, he will form another plan and eventually he will have his revenge. He is not as afraid of killing as you are, Dustfinger._

_But you have no choice, _other thoughts answered. _You know well enough that even in the hottest fire a man doesn't die in a second or even a minute. This castle is full of men with guns. You would never get out alive, especially not with the prisoners. Orpheus might die, but you would die with him._

"Well, what are you still hanging around for?" Orpheus snapped. "In the morning bring her up to my study, but I don't want any interruptions until then. Heavens, how does anyone expect me to get anything done around here with all the confusion and commotion I have to deal with in this blasted castle? And I don't want to hear another gunshot until further notice, do you understand? And don't wander off again. I may not be able to find the right words for that bandit or the faithless fire-eater, but any more slip-ups on your part, and I'll send you right back to that sand-scorched world I brought you out of! Ran into a branch indeed! You're dismissed."

Behind the thick, round glasses, Orpheus's eyes met Dustfinger's for a moment, and they stood there stock still, Orpheus scowling and Dustfinger gazing unwaveringly back, but then the fire-eater quickly broke the contact, remembering that he was a servant. "I understand," he muttered, before turning and heading for the door.

"You had better understand," Orpheus replied darkly.

Once out in the corridor again, Dustfinger headed for the dungeons. He had been there once before, only one day ago – could it really have been only last night that he slipped from his body? – but things seemed different when one was not a floating, invisible spirit. But he knew he had all night, for there was no point in trying to rescue the prisoners before dawn without arousing suspicion. Already a plan was formulating in his mind, inspired by Orpheus's command to bring Meggie up to him in the morning. With Resa at the gate and a little luck, it might just work…

There was only one guard outside the prisoners' cell. Feeling more comfortable with his new role as Fulvio, Dustfinger exchanged some words with the man and learned that the prisoners were all quiet inside. Good. Dustfinger didn't want them to attempt an escape, for it would only stir up the castle and make his job harder. He wished he could send some message of hope to his daughter inside, but he could think of no way to do it without the guard noticing. He looked through the small grill in the door, but all he could see inside was darkness and a red torch glow to the left that did little to illuminate the room. There were no sounds or movement, and he guessed they were all asleep.

Finally, he slipped away, back up to the ground level where he carefully planned every step of the escape, and watched the moon creep over the castle. This was one night that he desperately wished would end. The darkness that filled the halls was not the darkness he loved in Inkworld, but a choking blackness that struggled to crush all hope and bravery. Orpheus and the guards might have been fooled by his disguise, but his heart wanted to panic, even though he was not sure what there was to be afraid of. _He's writing again, _his thoughts said. _Orpheus is writing again. Black words. Black dreams. Black as ink. And all for you._ But he ignored them and turned his mind to his plan once again.

Five hours later, he had led the prisoners from the cell and saw freedom shining only footsteps away.

"What are you doing with those prisoners, Fulvio? Orpheus sent me down to tell you he wants to see all of them in his study immediately."

Dustfinger turned slowly towards Aldo, his mind racing. He could hear the fearful intake of breath from Meggie, could sense the imploring eyes of Miranda on him, and could feel his own pounding heart. For a moment, he stared at Aldo and the men with guns that surrounded him, then he nodded, his heart sinking within him. "Of course, I'll bring them all up right away."


	23. Nothing but Gray Ashes

Chapter 23: Nothing but Gray Ashes

It had all been going so perfectly. Resa could hardly contain the delight she felt at seeing Alvino and Meggie emerge from the castle doors, safe and with Elinor, Miranda, and the disguised Dustfinger with them. But she had waited for Dustfinger's call and knew that she could not rush to embrace her children until they had left the castle far behind, something that looked like it would be happening in just a few minutes. Dustfinger had pulled it off. How could she have ever doubted? It was perfect.

She had not seen Aldo until he called out, but the words he spoke froze her with fear. _No!_ she silently pleaded. _It was going so perfectly. The plan can't fail now, not now._

She could see the sudden doubt and consternation that came into Dustfinger's eyes as he turned to face Aldo. She heard his answer with dread. It had been a long, cold night on the wall top, surrounded by enemy men with guns who might at any moment discover her identity. But she had had the protection of darkness, and she knew Dustfinger had the protection of his changed skin. Now, in the light, Resa was afraid, afraid that at any moment someone might see through her disguise, that she might give herself away like she had the last time, so many years ago in Inkworld. She was sure her disguise would not hold up before Orpheus, who had seen her several times before, spoken with her, learned to hate her as the Bluejay's wife. And when he recognized her, how could he not see the fire in Fulvio's eyes and know that it was not Fulvio who stood before him? She would betray them all.

But Dustfinger was already moving. He put his hand on Miranda's shoulder and pushed her around, back towards the castle door. For someone who didn't realize what was happening, the movement would have looked harsh and angry, but Resa saw the tenderness and reassurance in the touch.

"Heavens above, can't that book-mangling man make up his mind?" Elinor complained. "First, it's march outside at the crack of dawn with no breakfast and now we're supposed to drag ourselves up a bunch of confounded stairs to have a chat with him in his bedroom. I'm surprised he managed to build a castle at all, not with him changing his mind every two minutes."

Resa prodded her forward with the tip of her shotgun, and Elinor turned around to glare daggers at her, an angry comment on the tip of her tongue. Resa glanced quickly up at Aldo, but he was faced away from them, so she tapped a finger against her lips, giving her aunt a knowing look.

"Heavens, it's –" Elinor thankfully cut herself short and clamped her mouth firmly shut, but her eyes were wide. Abruptly, she turned around and continued walking after the others who were headed towards the castle doors.

Resa found herself walking at the end of the procession and could see everything that went on in the rest of the company. Meggie had put a comforting arm around Alvino's shoulders and was whispering something into his ear. Miranda was still walking in front of Dustfinger, her shoulders trembling slightly, but she neither turned nor stopped. Aldo walked on their left flank, even with Meggie and Alvino, and keeping a suspicious eye on them. There was no talking as they marched back into the dark halls, for it was as if a dread had fallen across them all. Resa was afraid Aldo would notice their unease, but he made no comment, his eyes merely flickering over them as if to watch for any escape attempts. After several flights of stairs, Resa was feeling the burn in her legs and her eyelids felt leaden. Her sleepless night was catching up to her, and the anxiety of the past few days was doing nothing to help her.

"He wants to see all of them?" Dustfinger's low voice, no longer his own, cut through the silence. "Not just the reader girl?"

"That's what he said," Aldo replied. "I suppose he wants them there in case he needs to motivate her a bit."

"I won't tell him anything," Meggie stated. Resa smiled inwardly, proud of the determination she heard in her daughter's voice, but her stomach twisted at the same time. She remembered how weak Mo had been after being tortured by Orpheus. How could she stand by and watch her own son and friends undergo Orpheus's methods of motivation?

There was no more time to wonder or worry. They came down a hall to a door carved with a golden lyre, and Dustfinger stepped up to it and, without hesitation, knocked. "Come in," rang out Orpheus's voice, and Resa shuddered. She wanted to call out to Dustfinger, tell him not to open the door, but instead to flee, but she could not speak. It was as if she was back in Capricorn's village, completely mute – she knew if she spoke and gave them away, they could not all escape from Aldo's gun. And Dustfinger was already opening the door.

The room was only dimly glowing, for none of Orpheus's windows faced east. There was an opulent grandness about the tapestries, rugs, and furniture in the large room – Resa wondered what kings or emperors were missing their castles' trappings – but it had a cold feeling to it. It reminded Resa of Orpheus's voice, outwardly beautiful, but with something disconcertingly and chillingly wrong.

The reader was standing in the middle of the room. Like his men, he was dressed in clothes of this world, which added to the disconcerting feeling, seeing as they were inside a castle that could have come directly from Inkworld. His blonde hair looked newly brushed, and he was smiling in a falsely innocent way that sent shivers down Resa's spine. "Good day," he said, seeming to direct this greeting mostly at Meggie. "I hope you have had plenty of time to think over your answer. I must apologize for calling you here earlier, but I met with a bump in my plans that needed immediate seeing to. You see, I have received new and very interesting information, and I wouldn't want any of you to miss such a grand part of my plan as I am near to carrying out. But first, before we get to that, we have some unfinished business that we need to take care of. Since you decided to drag your companions into our deal, I thought it fitting that they should be here to help with your answer."

Smiling broadly, he turned towards Dustfinger. "You can set down your gun, Fulvio, you, Gaspare, and Aldo. There shouldn't be any need for them here, and after all, we wouldn't want to frighten the children."

Dustfinger and Aldo laid down their guns, and Resa reluctantly followed suit. Although she doubted that she would be able to use the weapon if it actually came down to fighting, she felt naked and vulnerable without any means of defense. She knew Dustfinger had his fire, but she also knew that he would hesitate to use it. Only when she thought this did she notice that there were no lit torches in Orpheus's room, and not even a candle flickered on his desk.

At a nod from Orpheus, Aldo took hold of Meggie's arm and pulled her from the group to stand before the pale-faced reader. "I don't believe I need to go over the stipulations of our agreement, Meggie," he said. "I'm sure you informed your friends of what my deal entails, and I made it quite clear yesterday of what I want from you. So, have you made your choice? Will you tell me why I cannot find words for the Bluejay and the Fire-Dancer? Will you tell me what you did? And I warn you, I will know if you lie to me."

Miranda was shivering. Resa saw Alvino reach over and take the red-haired girl's hand and give it a small squeeze. Miranda glanced at him and he gave her an encouraging smile, a smile Miranda did her best to return. Behind them, Elinor put a protective hand on each ones' shoulder, her face grim. She looked ready to fight to the death if anyone made a move to harm either of them.

Meggie drew herself up to her full height, which was not unimpressive for a woman. She tipped her chin back, staring at Orpheus with an expression of controlled anger and justice. _Just like her father, _Resa thought, but then she corrected herself. _No, just like the Bluejay._

Through the stone room, Meggie's voice rang clear. "I told you yesterday that I would give you no information about Mo or Dustfinger. Nothing has changed since yesterday that would make me change my mind. I will not betray them to you – none of us will. I don't know what your twisted mind expected of me, but you can rest assured that the Bluejay's daughter will fight against tyranny just as much as the Bluejay did. My father destroyed the Adderhead, and I will gladly be the one to end your wickedness. That is all I have to say."

Resa expected Orpheus to fly into a rage or to at least show some aspect of anger at Meggie's speech, but he didn't. The smile never faded from his face, and his eyes flashed behind his glasses. "No, I suppose I shouldn't have expected anything different from the Bluejay's daughter," he said. "However, I will remind you that you were not nearly so bold in my great hall. You, after all, were the one to read the words I wrote for you to read. If I pressed the point, don't think I couldn't find a way to make you tell me your secret. And I may still require it of you in the future. But for now, I will let the matter rest, as it is of little importance to me now."

Although on the outside she hoped she was showing no signs of confusion, on the inside, Resa was puzzled. She watched Orpheus closely, not sure what to expect from him. Striding over to his desk, he picked up a sheet of paper and held it before him, curling his mouth into a sneer as he glanced over the words that were written there. He then flourished the parchment before Meggie. "You see, Bluejay's daughter, I have been writing again, without any words from you. Do not forget that I am Orpheus, the finest reader in this world or any other, and I do not need your help. It was my words that allowed you into _Inkheart_ in the first place, my words that brought Dustfinger back from beyond Death, and it will be my words that are both his and the Bluejay's undoing. Your little tricks could make the words flit away from my pen for a time, but in the end, they will not be able to keep me from my just retribution. These are my words, mine alone, and with them, I shall make an old friend rue the day he betrayed me."

Fear danced behind Meggie's eyes. "They won't work," she whispered, as if to convince herself that it was true.

"Indeed?" Orpheus laughed. "Well, we shall see, won't we? But before we do, I have a little surprise for all of you. Fulvio!"

Dustfinger looked up quickly at the name and opened his mouth to speak, but Orpheus raised a hand, an almost mirthful laugh on his lips. "No! I meant the _real_ Fulvio, not you, my faithless, fiery friend."

Resa's heart leapt to her mouth, but she could not scream. Three men issued out of a side room and five more men, all with guns came in behind them through the open door. Somehow, Aldo's gun was back in his hands and pointing directly at Dustfinger's chest. From behind Orpheus's tall writing desk, another man limped slowly into view: Fulvio. He gave Dustfinger a scornful leer. "Maybe you should learn to tie tighter knots for next time, fire-eater. But, oh, that's right, there's not going to be a next time for you, is there?"

Dustfinger's face was blank, completely blank. "Seize him, men!" Orpheus cried. "But be careful, and don't touch his skin. He can burn you." Two of the men grabbed Dustfinger, while the remainder of Orpheus's guard held the others back. When Miranda tried to run forward to her father, Aldo caught her by her long, red hair, and she cried out in pain as he yanked her back and held her tightly by the arm.

The man who held Resa gave a cry of surprise. "This one's a woman, Ink-Enchanter."

Orpheus hardly glanced at her. "Of course, she is – she's the Bluejay's wife. But I'm not interested in her at the moment. She is not my prize."

He approached Dustfinger, shaking his head slowly. "How did I not recognize you when you were in my study yesterday evening? How did I not see the fire in your eyes? You almost pulled it off, didn't you? Almost escaped from under my very nose. I really had no idea it was you until Fulvio limped in here this morning with a very interesting tale to tell. It really isn't like you to leave an enemy all alone and unguarded in your own camp. You must be getting fairly old by now, and maybe Death didn't preserve your mind as well as it preserved your body. Losing your touch, are you, Dustfinger? Fulvio was able to get a knife out of your pack and cut his bonds with it, but because of that nasty wound you gave him, it took him most of the night to drag himself back here. He came in through the escape tunnel, and came straight to me.

"Oh, when I heard his story, how afraid I was that you might have already escaped. Not that I couldn't have had you writhing on the ground before you were three miles from this place, but it would have proved that you could outwit me, that you were still capable of winning a stroke here and there. No, this is much better. Because last night I found the words to write for you, the perfect words for the Fire-Dancer. You have no idea how much I have longed to read them to you."

He looked at Dustfinger as a hunter might look at a particularly fine deer. "It has been a long time, such a long time," he mused, almost nostalgically, as if he were speaking to an old friend whom he had missed. "Is changing skins another trick Death taught you? But I don't want to read my words to you like this – I want you to be in your own form when I read aloud."

Dustfinger closed his eyes, as if he had no strength left to fight against Orpheus. The men holding him gave cries of alarm as his skin seemed to peel off and flutter to the ground, but when the flakes reached the ground, they were nothing but gray ashes. The fearful cries were replaced by awed murmurs when the last of the ash crumbled off and left Dustfinger standing in the middle of the room, sparks flickering over his skin.

Orpheus seemed neither impressed nor surprised. "You made the right choice, Dustfinger," he said. "Unlike Meggie here, you know there's no point in refusing what I ask of you. You know what I'm willing to do to those who try to foil my plans."

He smiled thinly at Meggie. "Your father's not here, is he? And that's why I couldn't write about them – because I was trying to write about them both. Well, I still want to know how you kept your father safe from my words – not that he'll be safe for long – but first I'll take care of the Fire-Dancer."

Dustfinger's carefully masked face showed no emotion, but tiny sparks danced on his clothes. "You have no need for them now, or for Resa. Release them, Orpheus."

Orpheus laughed, but there was bitterness in his voice. "Release them? You are in no position to be giving me orders. This is exactly what I came to hate in you. You have thrown away everything you used to be, everything I admired in you. You have become just one another of Fenoglio's dull, heroic characters. You used to only care about yourself, but now all that's left is this ridiculous self-sacrificing hero."

Finally, there was emotion in Dustfinger's face – a flaring anger. "All I used to be was a selfish, cowardly traitor. If that's all you admire in another person, than there is little hope for you. But I am no hero – that's the role you were going to read me into, Orpheus – but I was satisfied then with what I was, and I am satisfied now."

"Satisfied!" Orpheus cried. "You would not be satisfied, if you had only let me show you what you could have been. You allow yourself to be molded and shaped by a man who wrote your death. Fenoglio was responsible for your death, Dustfinger! What do you owe him except hatred? I still have the words I started to write for you in Inkworld. You can still throw away this ridiculous guise that Fenoglio has given you and join me to become the greatest character ever seen in any world. Together, you and I can make your world right. Surely, you have thought of my offer and regretted your decision in the past twelve years. I am not an unreasonable man – I am still willing to overlook your past wrongs towards me and take you once again as a friend!"

For a moment, there was only dead silence, but then Dustfinger laughed. "You still have not given up on your old dreams, Orpheus?" he said. "You have threatened those dearest to me, sided with my enemies, tried to change my world, and you still think I would join you on a whim. If that is what you think, then you do not know me at all."

A hideous change came over Orpheus's face, until it appeared more beast than human. Dark hatred and anger turned his pale face red, and when he spoke, the beauty of his voice was marred by a spiteful bitterness. "Oh, don't think I don't know you, Fire-Dancer," he spat. "I know you well enough to know what will hurt you the deepest, what will leave you writhing and begging me to reconsider. But you have made your choice and have decided to be my enemy. You will learn soon that Orpheus the Ink-Enchanter makes a terrible opponent."

Trembling seized Resa's weak limbs. She tried vainly to struggle against her captors, but one of them dug the point of his gun into her side. Orpheus stepped back away from them, as if to better survey the damage he was about to wreak, and he lifted the paper in his hands. Dustfinger's face was pale, as pale as it had been the night the White Women took his soul. Miranda was sobbing.

Orpheus's voice rang out over all other noises, and everything faded away except for that musical, enthralling sound. But the words that it read were like knife points in Resa's skin. _The Fire-Dancer had long delighted in the warmth fire brought to his skin, and the White Women had given him a heart of flame. It danced for his thoughts and answered to his words – it loved him, and he loved it back, more than life. He no longer feared Death, for he thought the fire would follow him there, and in Death's realm he would play with the flames and make them light the darkness for all time. There was no darkness so black that he could not penetrate it, no coldness so chill that he could not warm it…or so he believed._

_But one day, the flames heard another voice calling to them, the voice of a man who had been betrayed by their master. And the voice spoke of darkness and cold places where fire withers and dies and becomes nothing but gray, useless ashes. The voice lured the flames away, convinced them to betray the betrayer, and because that voice had a magic older and deeper than the Fire-Dancer's, they abandoned their former master, and left him forever in his darkness and coldness and terror. And when the fire left him, it took with it everything he had cheated from Death, and Death remembered what the Fire-Dancer owed. And finally, the Fire-Dancer knew despair._

Even as Orpheus read, the words began to take their toll. Dustfinger moaned and bent, a hand pressed to his chest as if a sword point had been driven through his heart. His breathing turned ragged, his head lolled, and he collapsed to his knees. At first, Resa thought that a darkness had fallen over his hair, but a moment later, she realized what was happening. The red faded from his locks until only a few dull strands of ginger were left, and the rest of his hair was gray as ashes. His face that had been as young as a man in his prime became drawn as the years that had vanished since his death came upon him, and Resa found herself looking at a man in his fifties, weary and in pain. Three pale lines appeared on his ashen cheek and the sparks on his clothing flared and vanished. Finally, he fell to the floor and lay, shivering uncontrollably like a man taken with a violent fever or one freezing in a bitter cold.

Orpheus stood over him, a look of pure delight and revenge etched on his face. "Are you cold, Dustfinger?" he sneered. "How do you like being betrayed by that which is most dear to you? It's time you lived like the rest of us mortals."

At a sign from Orpheus, the two guards dragged Dustfinger to his feet, and Resa looked full in his face. He was still trembling, and there was an emptiness in his eyes – Resa saw that the fire light had left them. She stared at him, and the shock of seeing him suddenly twenty years older and with no remnant of his fire left her speechless. Briefly, he looked into her eyes and she saw an old fear and despair written there, but then his head sank forward again.

Orpheus just stood there, gloating over his victim. "This is how I felt, Dustfinger," he said, "the night you stole my book from me. Abandoned and betrayed by my closest friend, left in the dark with no words to light my path. You are no longer the Fire-Dancer – I think you'll find that fire will burn you now just like any other man. Your fire was the only thing that made you anything, and now that's gone forever. Do you feel the pain? I know you do. I'll let you have some time to yourself now so you can regret your decision and feel my pain. And I'll be thinking, of other words, of other sentences and paragraphs that are fitting for traitors and cowards."

He made a dismissive hand gesture towards his guards. "Take them all back to their cell. I need some time alone to think. And write."

The gun prodded Resa's side painfully, and iron hands dragged her back towards the door. Around her, her companions were silent with the numbed shock of what they had just witnessed. The guards herded them through the door back out into the dark hallway, menacing them with guns, but the weapons were unneeded. No one made any move to fight them.

Last of all come Dustfinger, supported by a guard on either side, his head still hanging like a dead man's, but behind the curtain of gray hair, Resa could hear him softly weeping.


	24. A Taste of Hope and Light

**A/N: I would like to dedicate this chapter to radha24–Dusty's apprentice, because of all her fantastic reviews and compliments, and also for introducing me to CFF. Hope you enjoy this chapter just as much, radha! – Sauron Gorthaur**

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Chapter 24: A Taste of Hope and Light

Meggie wasn't sure what she should feel. For the moment, she had survived the inquiries of Orpheus, and Resa was here. How she had missed Mo and Resa! But Resa was a prisoner now just like herself, Orpheus would soon be writing new words to bring Mo to this world, and Dustfinger… She didn't know how deep was the damage Orpheus had done or what state the fire-eater was in. All she knew was that things were looking blacker than ever. But even so, she felt a comfort at the presence of her mother, and she knew that even without his fire, Dustfinger was not a man to underestimate.

The journey back down into the depths of the castle to the dungeons seemed long and dark. Meggie wanted more than anything to question Resa. Had Darius made it back to Elinor's house? Was Mo safe? Had anyone else come with them? Meggie kept her mouth tight shut, fearing the questions would leap from her lips too soon.

When they reached the cell door, the guards looked doubtfully at Aldo, who still seemed to be acting as Fulvio's replacement while Fulvio was injured.

"All of them in the same cell?" one, a skinny, young fellow, asked Aldo.

"It's big enough for all of them," Aldo answered.

The guard hesitated still. "But all of them together, might they hatch some plan? They have strange powers, some of them," he said with a nervous glance in Meggie's and Dustfinger's directions.

Aldo took the keys from his faltering hands. "Orpheus didn't seem worried about it. He's kept the reader witch's voice under his control so far, and I don't think we have to worry about the Fire-Dancer anymore. It'll be easier for us to have only one cell to watch over anyway."

"But what if they talk?" another guard persisted.

"Then let them talk," Aldo snorted. "They can't knock down walls with words – only Orpheus has that power here."

In the end, they were all thrust through the cell door back into the familiar darkness of their cell, but now with two new prisoners. Alvino immediately flung himself into his mother's arms, and Resa wept as she hugged him tightly. "I missed you so much," Alvino cried in a voice muffled by his mother's shirt. "It's been awful here. I'm never going to leave Inkworld ever again. Are we ever going to get home?"

"I'll do everything I can to get you home," Resa said softly. "It'll be all right." She looked up at Meggie and held out her arm. Meggie slipped into her mother's embrace beside her brother. "It's so good to see you, Meggie," she said. "I was worried about both of you." Meggie looked up and saw tears in Resa's eyes.

"We're altogether now at least," Meggie answered. "Even if we're here, that's better than being separated."

Resa gently touched her cheek. "You were ever so brave up there in front of Orpheus. I don't know if I could have stood up to him like that. I was frightened for you, but so proud." She smiled encouragingly, and Meggie managed to smile back.

Elinor had waited for Meggie and Alvino to greet their mother first, but as they stepped back, she hugged Resa as well.. "Heavens above," Elinor sniffed, wiping tears from her eyes, "when I realized it was you out there in the courtyard, my poor heart nearly stopped. But that was nothing to when that wretched Fulvio hobbled out and I knew the game was up. Whatever did you go and do it for, coming in here and getting yourself captured as well as us? You should have left us to fade away, rather than all of us fading away together." Meggie could tell she didn't really mean the words – she was merely saying them because she felt she had to say something.

"Your hair's all gone, Mother," Alvino whispered.

Resa ran trembling fingers through her cropped locks. "Apparently, I'm not as good at playing a man as I used to be. You don't mind it, do you, Alvino?"

Alvino shrugged, but stared at her with wide eyes. "No, you just look different."

Resa ruffled his hair. "It won't take long for it to grow back out. But you could do with a hair cut yourself. You starting to look a little scruffy."

Meggie put an arm around her brother's shoulders. It felt good to be together, her, Alvino, and Resa. "I imagine we're all a bit scruffy. We've been in this cell…" she paused, considering the fact that she had no idea how many days and nights had passed since they came here. "It's been a hard time," she finished, thinking of the many dark days and the even darker nights.

Resa said nothing, but looked sadly at her. There was a tired, drawn look in her eyes and face. Elinor, however, spoke up. "It's been a dreadful time, but we might as well make the best of this whole awful situation. We've come up with no ideas for getting out, but who knows what two new heads can add. Our friend Aldo didn't seem to have any worries about us coming up with an escape plan, but we might be able to prove him wrong yet. You've seen more of our surrounding countryside and this castle than we have, so maybe we can patch something together."

"Not now," Resa said wearily. "I need to rest. I spent the whole night on the wall top, and believe me, sleep didn't even cross my mind."

They sat against the wall together, and for the first time since they arrived back at their cell, Meggie remembered Dustfinger and Miranda. She had been so glad to see Resa that she had forgotten about the other new prisoner. She glanced over at the Fire-Dancer and his daughter.

As soon as they were shoved into the cell and the door locked behind them, Miranda had flew into her father's embrace at the same moment that Alvino had rushed to Resa. She clung to him, burying her face in his shirt and sobbing. He put his arms around her and squeezed her close, and she felt him press his face to her red hair. She couldn't hear him crying, but his body shook and his breathing came in uneven ragged gasps that jolted his chest.

"You're so cold, Father," she whispered.

He pulled back away from her, but still held her, looking into her face. She looked back, shocked by how old and tired he looked. She reached out shaking, and touched his gray hair, then ran her fingers across his cheek, feeling the rough lines of the scars. She didn't have to ask him to know what they were. "Are you going to be all right, Father?"

He took in a deep, steadying breath. "Yes," he said finally. "It's just fire, and it's not the first time that I've had to do without it. I'll be fine in a while."

Neither his guarded words nor his guarded expression kept the truth from her. She saw the wrenching pain deep in his fireless eyes, a numbing, bitter coldness. The sight of his pain was too much for Miranda, and she began to sob outright. "It's all my fault," she wailed. "If I had listened to you, you'd be all right. I hate this world. I hate it. I hate it! I hate it!"

He pulled her close once again. His skin was no colder than any other person's, but it seemed icy to her. "Sometimes we have to learn the hard way. I know I have. Hating things doesn't make them go away or make a bad situation better. And it's not your fault – it's Orpheus's." He stroked her hair. "I promise you'll get home. I'll make sure you get home."

Over his shoulder, she could see the torch flickering on the wall, and it flared slightly when her glance passed over it. Dustfinger followed her gaze, and an intense pain passed through his eyes, but it was covered a second later. "I can do it," Miranda said. "I'm like you." She reached out her thoughts to the torch, and a small flame appeared in her cupped hand, which she held out to Dustfinger.

But he recoiled away from it before it touched him. "No," he said quietly, "no, Miranda. It'll burn me now."

The terrible realization of what Orpheus had done to him crept over Miranda. The fire had truly left him, completely, utterly. The sudden thought of never again seeing him weave fire in the sky for her, never again hearing his laugh and seeing the glint in his eye when he made the flames dance, never again smelling and feeling the fire on his skin and hair, was too much for Miranda. Tears poured down her cheeks, and the fire in her hand vanished.

But Dustfinger, kneeling on the floor in front of her, took her by the shoulders and looked deep into her eyes. "You're right, Miranda," he said. "You can do it. Orpheus could not destroy the Fire-Dancer. You are the Fire-Dancer now, and you must make the flames dance and teach them new tricks. My power must live on in you."

There were tears on his cheeks. Slowly, Miranda reached out, and, letting the fire warmth rise in her skin, she drew her fingers across his cheek, and the tears dried under her touch. "Oh, Father," she whispered in a shaking voice.

They sat down against the wall together, Dustfinger holding her in his arms. Her sobs had stopped, but she laid her head dejectedly on his shoulder. "I never want to go away again," she whispered at last. He squeezed her slightly, but made no reply.

When Meggie looked over, she saw the two of them leaning against the wall, their voices faint murmurs. She decided not to disturb them, but stood instead by the opposite wall with Resa and Alvino. Resa fell asleep almost immediately after sitting down, and Alvino sat beside her for a while, his eyes half-closed. Finally, his eyes closed the rest of the way, and his head drooped down onto Resa's shoulder.

"Look at them," Elinor said fondly. "He's a good boy, isn't he? A fine nephew, and a fine brother, I imagine." She put her hand on Meggie's arm. "If he grows up to be half as fine a person as his sister, he'll be doing well. Resa was right, Meggie, you showed that Orpheus a thing or two. You told him exactly what I would have, if I had had the courage."

She yawned deeply. "Oh dear, there I go again, and it can't be past eleven yet. But everyone else seems to be asleep, and I don't see that there's anything else to do. I'm going to see if I can't join them, and maybe I'll have a pleasant dream or two, if I'm lucky. If pleasant dreams are possible in this awful place." She sat down on the other side of Alvino, and it was not long before her gentle breathing joined that of her two companions.

Meggie didn't feel like sleeping, however. She was restless, upset, and angry. Now that Resa and Dustfinger were fellow prisoners, all hope of escape seemed to have faded. Would Mo come eventually? Or Doria? They would walk into the same trap and be flung into Orpheus's dungeons, as well. And could she bear to see what Orpheus would do to Mo should he become a prisoner? Until that morning, she had only half-believed in Orpheus's threats, but after she had witnessed what had happened to Dustfinger, she no longer doubted the reader's power. He was dangerous, terribly dangerous. And she felt so terribly helpless.

For a while she sat beside her mother, and the dark minutes dragged by. She felt alone and afraid, as if a darkness was trying to close in around her heart. She could almost feel it pressing, crushing her, making each heartbeat a painful effort. With a shudder, she wondered what words Orpheus was writing and reading aloud, and what more he could do to them.

She stared across the torch-lit cell at Dustfinger and Miranda. Both were clearly asleep, but Dustfinger's face was haggard and troubled. It was so strange to see the scars on his face again, like going back in time. Whatever dreams were flickering through his mind, they were not peaceful, and he was still shivering. She felt a deep regret as she watched his expression shifting between pain and fear and despair: emotions that he would have hidden when awake, but could not conceal while asleep. She could only begin to guess at the torment Orpheus words caused him, but she had known him for many years and she guessed enough to make her insides writhe with horror and hatred for Orpheus and his cruel words. Would it be her own father who she would have to watch succumb to Orpheus's torture next? What would the reader take from Mo?

Hesitantly, she got up and made her way over to the fire-eater, sliding down the wall until she was sitting beside him. Curled in his arms, Miranda whimpered slightly, but did not awaken. Meggie wished he would wake – she wanted to talk to him privately, without any of the others listening in – but she did not expect her wish to be granted. He must have been exhausted after his ordeal.

Deep in thought, her own eyes were starting to droop, when she heard him sigh. He shifted, and glancing at him, she saw his eyes flicker drowsily open. He looked around, as if trying to remember where he was, then almost automatically he turned half towards her. Her long hair was loose about her, and to her shock Dustfinger leaned in towards her, and she felt his fingers gently stroking the golden locks. Frozen in surprise, she stared at him. But then he looked up, full into her eyes, and what color there was in his face vanished.

He jerked his hand away, and color quickly returned – his cheeks flushed red. "Meggie," he stammered. "I'm sorry, I thought you were –" He cut the sentence off abruptly, turning even redder, but Meggie knew what he had been about to say, and for some reason, it didn't bother her as much as it would have once.

"You thought I was Resa," she finished for him. "It's all right, I don't mind it like I used to."

The red faded from his cheeks, and when he looked at her again, there was a knowing gleam in his eyes. "Why?" he said quietly. "Because now you know what it's like to love two men at once?"

Now it was Meggie's turn to blush. She didn't answer him, but thought instead of Doria, so far away, and the way she felt every time he kissed her or put an arm around her. But she also thought of the dark face and eyes that she still saw almost every night in her dreams.

"You never stopped loving Farid, did you?" Dustfinger murmured. "No more than Resa ever stopped loving Mo or I ever stopped loving Roxane? And I don't think he ever stopped loving you, not truly, but I don't know. I don't see him often anymore, but he's mentioned you a few times when he comes to visit."

A deep ache spread through Meggie. She realized she had not seen Farid for many years, and the last time she had seen him, he had been so different. He had reminded her of Dustfinger, dressed like a fire-eater, making flames swirl from his fingertips, but his face had been mysterious and closed to her. Just like Dustfinger. _But not anymore,_ she thought a moment later, and she remembered that she had wanted to talk to him.

He was watching her silently, and she guessed that he had deduced much of what had been passing through her mind. She cleared her throat. "I've wanted to talk to you."

His eyes closed briefly. "Actually, there were a few things I wanted to discuss with you, as well."

He didn't continue, so Meggie began. "I…I never thanked you for what you did for me, that night in the mine." She faltered. His death seemed long ago and distant, but recent events made it seem sharper and somehow closer once again. "I know you didn't do it just for me, I know you loved Farid, too, but it meant everything to me that you gave me Farid back, and I never thanked you. I don't know what's going to happen, so thank you, thank you for everything you've done for me and my family."

Again, a gleam came into his eyes, not firelight, but some deeper, stranger light, and she wondered if Orpheus could truly reverse what had happened to Dustfinger in Death's realm. "You're welcome," was all he said, however. An awkward silence fell over them once again, and Meggie found herself winding a strand of hair absently around her fingers.

In truth, she didn't know how to react to him, and he made her feel uncomfortable, not in a completely unpleasant way, but in an awkward, strange way. She had rarely seen him in the past twelve years, save for a few times about Ombra, but then they had only acknowledged one another with a smile or a brief nod, perhaps a passing greeting, and then they had gone on about their business. But even though she knew it was not quite true, every time she saw him, she still felt as if he was the one responsible for everything that had happened to change her life so dramatically. The image of him stepping through the door and pushing back his wet hair, his mysterious, scarred face gazing at her, was still vivid in her mind and dreams. It was as if he was a symbol of everything in Inkworld, of everything that had changed in her life, and she didn't know still how to feel towards this man who had opened the door to Inkworld for her. She had despised him and admired him, hated him and loved him, screamed death threats at him and wept over his dead form. And now he had sacrificed his fire in part for her. She turned away from him, confused.

If he knew what she was feeling or felt in anyway the same, he made no sign of it. He was silent for a time, but the darkness seemed to press in closer. "I have a request," he said at length. "Actually, it's two requests." His fingers traced the lines on his cheek as if they had never been gone. His eyes had a haunted look. "I don't know what's going to happen or if I'll ever get out of here alive. I don't suppose I shall. As long as Orpheus breathes, he won't let me slip out of his grasp. I don't know what he plans to do with all of you now that he has me, but I don't think he really cares about anyone but me. The rest of you might have a chance to escape if that's the case."

He paused, his eyes wandering to where Resa lay against the wall slumbering. He gazed soundlessly at her for a second, but then he looked back at Meggie and spoke, his voice calm and controlled, but ever so faintly she sensed his fear. "If the opportunity opens up for you to escape, I want you to get them out, Meggie," he said. "Get them all back home to Inkworld. Miranda won't leave me here willingly, and I don't think Resa will either. But you have to make them go, Meggie. Do you understand?"

Meggie felt tears in her eyes. She bit her lip and nodded. Dustfinger searched her face, then spoke again, apparently satisfied that she would do what he asked. "And there's something else: Miranda." He paused, and the carefully constructed mask faltered for a moment, showing Meggie the face of a conflicted father. "Roxane told me before I left that to lose me again would kill her. I don't know if she will try to end her own life or if her heart will simply stop beating, but I don't think she can live through that pain again. If so, Miranda will be without parents. Brianna, well, Brianna is old enough to look after herself, but I don't know if she can look after Miranda, too. She never truly recovered, I think, after what happened twelve years ago. Roxane and I resigned ourselves some time ago to the fact that she's never going to marry. I thought about asking Resa to take in Miranda, but I couldn't do it. She and your father aren't young anymore, and I don't want to leave them that burden."

He clasped her hand suddenly in an earnest grip, and his eyes became bright and intense. "I know this is much to ask of you – too much – but will you and Doria take in Miranda? I would never have asked it, but I can't bear the thought of Miranda alone, and if you are anything like your mother, I know you will take care of her. I would die easier if only I knew Miranda would have a good family when I am gone."

Even if she had wanted to, she couldn't have resisted Dustfinger's pleading gaze. She squeezed his hand, tears rolling down her cheek. "Yes," she wept softly, "yes, of course, I will, Dustfinger. She'll have a good home with Doria and me."

Dustfinger leaned back and sighed, as if a great burden had been lifted from him. "Thank you," he said. "I know you don't have any idea how much this means to me, but thank you." He looked down at his slumbering daughter and kissed her brow. "Take care of her."

Meggie looked down at the red-haired girl and felt her heart throb painfully.

~o~o~

An hour passed or perhaps two – Meggie couldn't tell – and everyone was awake again, staring around at one another with dull gazes. It was quiet in the cell now, and no noises could be heard from outside. While they slept, food had been delivered in front of their cell door, the usual fair of bread, cheese, some apples, and fresh drinking water. They had all been hungry, especially the former prisoners who had not eaten since the previous night. Only Dustfinger hadn't eaten. Resa had tried to convince him to at least take a slice of bread, but he had turned away and murmured that there would be more for the rest of them, and Resa hadn't pressed the point. Meggie hadn't spoken to him again since he had asked her to take in Miranda, but she had seen the darkness creeping back into his eyes again, and there was a empty look on his face, not despair, not pain any longer, just nothingness.

After her sleep, Resa seemed to have recovered quite well on the other hand. She still looked weary and worn, but there was a determined light in her eyes. _But she's been through terrible times before,_ Meggie thought_, worse than this, I suppose._ She was comforted by her mother's steadfastness and hoped that she was showing an equal resistance to the tug of despair that hung thick in the cell.

"We need a plan," Resa said. "We can't just sit here and wait for Orpheus to write us into a worse situation. He isn't the only one with power here – we have our own reader."

Everyone looked at Meggie, but she shook her head. "My voice is no use without words, and we don't have anyone to write them."

"Except Orpheus," Elinor said sarcastically. "I suppose he'd be delighted to write us up something for you to read, Meggie, something nice and dreadful. I wouldn't be surprised if he was reading something right now to keep our minds all blank of any useful ideas."

"Mum can write," Alvino piped up. "You write good stories, Mother."

Meggie looked hopefully at Resa. "That's right, you wrote all those stories for me when you couldn't talk, and you've read _Inkheart_ many times. Yes, you could write us something and I could read it."

Resa frowned slightly, but answered, "I suppose, but I've never had a reader read my work aloud. I can write, but I don't know if it would be words that would come alive."

"It's better than no plan at all," Elinor said. "We might as well try it. The worst that can happen is that we're disappointed, and I've been disappointed so many times over the last few days that I don't know if I'd feel it anymore. Have a go at it anyway, Resa."

"Well, all right," Resa said, "but we don't have anything to write with."

This statement brought on another silence. It was quickly determined that there was no paper among them – Resa had left Fenoglio's sheets in Dustfinger's pack back at their camp – and there were no pens.

"It doesn't have to be paper though, does it?" Alvino asked. "We could use cloth, a torn bit of someone's shirt or something."

The moment he said it, Meggie felt renewed hope. "Yes," she said, "thank you, Alvino. I don't see why cloth wouldn't work. I mean, the vellum and parchment they use in Inkworld isn't so different from cloth. But let's not go tearing anyone's clothes until we have something to write with."

Another silence followed, but finally Dustfinger shifted and reached into his pocket. He and Resa had not been searched by the guards, and he produced a small pocket knife, which he flicked open. "I've had this ever since I was here before – it might even be one of Basta's, I don't know." He reached into his pocket again, and this time brought out a feather, a small black quill. Meggie knew instantly what type of bird it came from, and from the look on Resa's face, so did she. Dustfinger saw the look and shrugged awkwardly. "I found it on the ground the night after you transformed on the way here. I kept it…well, I don't know why I kept it," he ended. Meggie knew why he had kept it as well as he did, but Elinor was staring at the feather and would probably not be pleased to hear Dustfinger's reason. She was frowning, as if she already had some idea of the reason.

"That's very nice," she said, "but what are we going to do with a feather and a knife?"

Dustfinger shot her an irritated glance. "I'm getting to it." He gently cut off the tip of the feather with his knife and held it out to Resa. "Here's your pen. A bit small perhaps, but it can't be much worse than the ones Fenoglio uses."

Resa took the quill pen carefully, looking strangely at it as if disbelieving that such a thing could have come from her. "So we have something to write on and a pen, but what about ink? There's not even dust on the ground that we could make into mud."

Abruptly, Dustfinger pulled the still open knife across his hand. Miranda cried out, and Resa and Meggie automatically moved towards him to stop him, but it was too late. With a small grunt, Dustfinger pulled the knife through, and red drops trickled down his arm. "Well," he snapped, "get something to collect the blood or start right now while I'm still bleeding. You can use my shirt if you like – it's too small for me anyway."

"You should have warned us before you did that," Resa said in a strained voice. "It wasn't necessary."

"Yes, it was," Dustfinger retorted, cutting a large chunk off the bottom of his long tunic-like shirt. "I can't think of any other ink to use, and I wasn't about to see anyone else hurt themselves." Suddenly, he laughed. It was the strangest sound to hear from him there in that gloomy cell. "Ha, think of that! I always knew my blood was ink. Now it really will be."

With the cloth on the stones in front of her, Resa carefully dipped the tip of the quill into the blood that had collected in Dustfinger's palm. She looked pale. "What should I write?"

"That this whole confounded castle falls down on the head of that evil man," said Elinor, "and the cell door bursts open so all the unhappy prisoners are free to depart in peace."

"Anyone have any useful suggestions?" Dustfinger said scornfully.

"Are you implying that my suggestion isn't useful?" Elinor snapped. "I meant it, for your information."

"I'm sure you did," Dustfinger scoffed, "but I'm not wasting my blood on a ridiculous proposition like that."

Elinor was clearly about to let fly at Dustfinger, when Resa cut in. "Please! We don't have time to argue, and I'm waiting. What should I write?"

"I still think the castle should fall down," Elinor sniffed.

"That's not the way the words work though," Meggie said. "The castle isn't from Inkworld, remember? Who knows how many books Orpheus used to read out the supplies for it. Orpheus isn't one of Fenoglio's characters either, which is going to make it harder."

Resa had been listening to Meggie and thinking at the same time. "I think I have an idea." She began to write, and everyone gathered around her, trying to see the words that were appearing on the cloth, but Dustfinger waved them away with his uninjured hand. "Let her be. How do you expect her to get anything done with all of you crowding around and breathing down her neck? She'll show it to you when she's finished."

Elinor looked huffy, but she obeyed, going to sit by the wall with the others. Resa and Dustfinger remained in the middle of the floor, bent over the cloth, and every once in a while, their murmuring voices reached Meggie as they discussed the writing.

"Oh, we're not allowed to make suggestions and disturb her, but he is, I see," Elinor said, observing the two of them. "If I didn't think better of Resa, I might assume that there was something between the two of them."

Meggie didn't look at her great-aunt. Elinor had never been told the parts of Resa's story that had dealt with her relationship with Dustfinger. She already disliked the fire-eater enough that finding out about his feelings towards Resa, her beloved niece, would probably send her over the edge. "He has a lot of experience with this," Meggie said instead. "And he's clever. I'm sure the two of them know what they're doing."

Elinor still wasn't convinced. "You have more experience with this than he does, Meggie. For heaven's sake, you're the reader after all! You should have some say."

Meggie shrugged, not wanting to argue with her stubborn great-aunt. "I don't mind. I don't have any ideas at the moment anyway."

There wasn't any retort to this. Elinor pressed her lips tightly together and stared at Resa and Dustfinger, but made no further comments.

After perhaps ten minutes, Resa laid the quill pen down while Dustfinger proceeded to cut another strip off of his now tattered shirt. With the strip, Resa bound up his hand, although the bleeding had almost stopped. The others then gathered around the two of them, and Meggie saw that the cloth in front of Resa was covered in red writing. There was a minute of silence as everyone read it through.

After Orpheus's black words of despair and pain, these words were a taste of hope and light to the prisoners. Even Elinor smiled grimly when she read it over. "Well done, Resa, very clever. I never would have thought of it myself."

Resa smiled modestly. "Dustfinger came up with most of the details. It was Meggie's comment about Orpheus not being one of Fenoglio's characters and the Bluejay that gave me the idea, and Dustfinger helped me elaborate on it a bit. But we still have to see if my writing will work with Meggie's voice." With these last words, she held the cloth out to Meggie, who took it carefully.

"Go on, read it, Meggie," Alvino said.

Meggie cleared her throat. _Though he had come from a world far away, Orpheus the Ink-Enchanter lived in Ombra in the heart of Inkworld for many years and there he had written and read aloud often. It was a world he loved and longed to be part of, and his wish was granted, but the part he played in that world was that of a dark and cruel villain. And so he was cast out of that world by the Bluejay and the Fire-Dancer and he came back to his own world, but not unchanged. He was the Ink-Enchanter of Ombra still, and his words still affected those back in Inkworld, but their words affected him, as well._

_One day, as he sought words for the torment of six captives whom he had drawn from Inkworld, he heard a strange voice and it spoke words that he had not intended. They spoke of release, and hope, and light, and the strength of his prisoners that he had not imagined. They turned his own dark words back upon him to…_

Meggie got no further. Her voice had been loud and clear, ringing with hope and tingling with magic. The five others in the cell listened, enchanted by the words, feeling their hearts rising within them. They were not powerless, not weak. There was still a way out. Unlike Orpheus's voice that was both beautiful and cold, Meggie's voice sent a warmth into each and every heart.

But the spell was shattered by the cell door slamming open. The frightened faces of the guards stared at Meggie as if she might turn them into toads then and there, but in front of them with keys in his hand was an irate Aldo. Before Meggie could read another word, he leapt forward and snatched the cloth from her hands, his gun point pricking her chest.

"Thought you could get the better of the Ink-Enchanter, did you?" Aldo snarled. "Your scribbled words are nothing here. But all the same, I don't think Orpheus will be pleased when he hears what you've been up to. No, I don't think he'll be pleased at all."


	25. His Own Dark Words

Chapter 25: His Own Dark Words

Meggie had read over half of the words that Resa had written on the cloth before Aldo had torn it away from her. He held it now, suspiciously, crumpling it in his hand as he lead them once again back up out of the dungeons. Resa's heart was jumping fitfully – how much did Meggie have to read for the words to work? Had she read enough for Orpheus to feel the effects? Would they survive long enough to find out? This was all a dreadful nightmare, a black dream where everything went wrong.

Resa tried to remember back to the stories Meggie had told her about the time in the Castle of the Night, about Fenoglio's words that Meggie had been reading when she was captured by the Adderhead's men. The words had still worked, hadn't they? But she couldn't remember how far Meggie had got that time or if anything that she hadn't read aloud had happened. Resa stumbled, and one of the guards caught her by the arm, jerking her on.

Their guards had heard what was going on and informed Aldo, that was obvious enough. Resa chided herself – they should have been more careful. They should have known the nervous guards would still be keeping a close watch on them and listening for anything suspicious. But she had not been careful, and there was nothing to be done about it now. There was no point in worrying over what had and had not happened – there was enough in the future, the near future, to worry about.

Around her, the other five prisoners were silent, even Elinor, allowing themselves to be herded along by the three guards and Aldo, all of whom were armed with their ever present shot guns. If only Dustfinger still had his fire. If only she could transform now and fly away to find help. But what help was there? Even with a swift's wings, she could not seek out aid in time to help her friends. Mo, the Black Prince, Lazaro – anyone who could help them was far away and in a different world. There was no help.

It seemed like days since they had stood in Orpheus's chamber, but when they walked through the hall leading up to the room, Resa saw out of the tall, narrow windows that it was evening of the same day. Already the view to the east showed a dark blue sky with small stars on the horizon above the trees.

Aldo knocked loudly on the door to Orpheus's chamber, and the voice that answered sounded irate. "Yes, what is it? Haven't I been interrupted enough these past few days? It had better be worth my time!"

Aldo led the way into the room. Orpheus was already standing to meet them, but he did not look as smug and gleeful as he had that morning. In fact, he looked rather weary, and there was an almost haunted look in his face. Resa immediately thought of her words. At the sight of all his prisoners standing dejectedly before him and Aldo sneering at them, his expression flickered between annoyance and confusion.

"I don't believe I gave any directions for them to be brought up here, Aldo," he snapped, annoyance winning out for the moment. "In fact, I seem to recall saying quite the opposite: to keep them in the cell and leave me alone to think and write. I have run into some… difficulties, and now is not the time to drag them in here. What have you to say for yourself and this wretched lot, Aldo?"

Aldo pointed his gun angrily at Meggie. "This one was reading aloud, Ink-Enchanter. The guards say they heard them all whispering together in their cell, and when I got down there, I could hear her. She was reading aloud about you, but I stopped her. She was reading from this."

He held out the crumpled cloth, which Orpheus snatched and unfolded. His eyes skimmed over the letters briefly, and Resa saw his pale face deepening to red. His breathing quickened, and a look of anger drowned out all other expressions. He flung the cloth down and turned on them, his eyes flashing dangerously, but his voice was surprisingly controlled.

"Very clever, yes, very clever. Whose idea was it? The charming young reader? The fireless fire-eater? Loud-mouth Elinor? I didn't expect it from you, but you obviously have some spirit left in you, and I shall have to take more precautions in the future. I suppose you all think you are very clever and have won a stroke, hmm? Well, hear me out – I am the reader of this castle. Your words are nothing here! Do you suppose that you could outwit me here, here in my own castle, built of my own words, where the very walls have eyes and ears that will bring me news of your doings. You have all been fools! You thought you could harm me with your silly little letters, but you can't. You can't do anything. Now how much of this did you read aloud?" he ended, waving the cloth before Meggie. Despite his words, Resa saw the haunted look, almost an expression of fear, increase as he spoke.

Meggie clamped her mouth shut. Suddenly, in a fit of rage that Resa had never beheld in him before, Orpheus struck Meggie across the face, his own face livid.

Resa cried out as Meggie staggered back, but it was Dustfinger who made a move. In a movement as quick as fire, he stepped between the two readers, and Orpheus found his arm held back in a strong grip. The guards lifted their guns but did not shoot for fear of hurting their master or of damaging their master's prisoner without his permission.

There was a fierce anger in Dustfinger's face that Resa had rarely seen in him before, and his voice came in a low growl. "It seems to me, Orpheus, that if all you've been saying is true and her words can do nothing here, then it doesn't matter how much she read."

Orpheus stared into Dustfinger's face, then glanced at the uplifted guns of his guards. The fear that had showed initially at Dustfinger's quick intervention faded to be replaced again by a smug sneer. "What business is it of yours, Dustfinger? I asked my prisoner a question and I expect to be answered. Release my arm!"

Dustfinger did not let go. Resa couldn't tell whether he was afraid or not, but he seemed paler than usual. Perhaps it was just the lack of fire in his eyes that made it seem that way though. "What business of mine? She may be your prisoner, but she is my friend and the daughter of the man who brought me back from Death. You will not harm her while I still draw breath."

"I can arrange it so that won't be very long," Orpheus snapped back. "I have already taken your precious fire away from you. I have dragged you out of your world with my words. Do you think it would be an effort for me to take your breath away as well? _I _was the one who rescued you from Death, but I can send you back in a moment and you will never return this time. Forever in the darkness and cold. Fireless."

There it was – the spark of fear and doubt in Dustfinger's eyes. His grip on Orpheus's arm loosened fractionally.

Orpheus shook his faltering fingers off and stepped back, smiling. "I know your deepest, darkest nightmares, Dustfinger. You are nothing but paper and ink – words. You were created with words, words reveal your heart to me, and words shall be your undoing. It's too late for you – you are already like a dead man to me. And no word shall ever come to Inkworld of the fate of the Fire-Dancer. They will wait for you, but you will never come home, and they will wonder for eternity what happened Dustfinger the Fire-Dancer!"

Suddenly, there was a knife in Dustfinger's hand, the small blade that he had used to cut his hand and had slipped back into his trouser pocket before they were taken. The last light of evening had faded from the windows, but the light from the torches on the walls flickered like blood on the shining blade. In a twinkling, the sharp edge was laid against Orpheus's throat, and the four guards immediately pointed their guns at the fire-eater's chest. The blade pressed harder against Orpheus's skin.

"I have more weapons than just fire," Dustfinger grated in his ear. "You forget that I had to live ten years without my powers, and I've always known how to live by my wits. Tell your guards to leave this room and close the door behind them or I'll kill you. And if they shoot me afterwards, what of it? You said I was already a dead man anyway."

"You won't do it," Orpheus breathed. "We've been through this before, and I know you can't do it."

"Maybe I've changed," Dustfinger whispered back. "Are you willing to find out?"

"They don't have to shoot you," Orpheus answered, a light coming into his eyes. "What about your daughter? Your friends?"

"Miranda," Dustfinger said softly. "The torches."

Resa's eyes had been glued to the two men, but now she looked at Miranda. The girl was shaking and pale, but at her father's words she looked up at the torches on Orpheus's walls and they flickered dangerously. The guards looked apprehensive, glancing from Miranda to the wavering flames about them then to their master. The flames began to creep down the walls like great red spiders, lighting the flag stones and casting weird shadows across the room. There were sparks in Miranda's hair.

"You've seen what I can do with fire," Dustfinger said. "You may have taken away my power, but you are wrong – you have not destroyed the Fire-Dancer. Every bit of my power lives in my daughter, and though she may not be as skilled as me yet, she can still turn this room – and your men – into an inferno. Now tell your men to leave or there will be nothing left of them but ashes. They will burn before they have time to shoot. My quarrel is not with them, and if they leave they will be spared."

He was speaking as much to the four men as to Orpheus, and there was fear in their eyes. They had heard many stories about the Fire-Dancer from their master and from rumor, and as they watched the flames slowly surrounding them, they lowered their guns and began to back towards the door.

"Stop, I tell you! Stay where you are! The girl doesn't have the guts to kill you anymore than her father has to strength to kill me. Do not move from your post!"

Orpheus's shout halted them only for a moment. The fire was licking around the wooden door behind them now. Aldo suddenly threw down his gun and the others followed suit. "Your power's fading, Orpheus," Aldo said. "You said you had them all under your control. I'm not staying here to be burned to death." The men fled from the blazing room and the fire streaked out into the corridor after them.

Orpheus turned a hate-filled stare back to Dustfinger. "What now, Fire-Dancer? Just because my men are cowards and do not trust in my power, it doesn't mean that this is over. Are you going to kill me or not? You haven't changed, and you never could take a life. I have read aloud since this morning. You didn't think that taking away your fire was the only torment I had in store for you. You will lose everything dear to you. Everything, Dustfinger, and the fire that was once your friend will be your enemy at the bitter end. And Dustfinger, _I_ have more weapons than just words as well!"

Several things happened at once. First, with a quick move that belied his bulk, Orpheus kicked out at Dustfinger, catching the fire-eater's legs. Dustfinger stumbled back, trying to regain his balance, the knife in his hand flailing for a second, and Orpheus used his opponent's disorientation to seize his arm and begin wrestling him for the weapon. The two men crashed into the writing desk, sending paper, books, and quill pens scattering across the floor.

Second, Miranda screamed when she saw her father stumble and had to be held back by Elinor, and her attention that had been fixed intently on the fire darted away for a moment. But it was enough. The fire had been burning all along the walls, but Miranda's attention had kept it from lighting the numerous tapestries and the wooden door and window frames. The moment Miranda's mind turned from it, all the tapestries, the wood, and Orpheus's huge canopied bed burst into flame. By the time Miranda tried to regain control of them, it was too late. The fire was in a feeding frenzy, and even the pleas of the Fire-Dancer's daughter could not reclaim their attention.

Third, at the moment Dustfinger stumbled, Resa felt a familiar dreadful itch deep inside as the bird within her began to claw out. The events around her were both dreadfully clear and somehow vaguely far away. _Not now!_ She pleaded. _I can't transform now._ But her pleas had never stopped the transformation before, and already she knew there was nothing anyone could do. _How ironic, _she thought_, and only a little time ago I wished I could grow wings and fly for help. But there is no help. There is no help, and now I will not be any help. Why is it that I must always wear feathers when those I love need me the most?_

Spasms racked her body, and the pain caused her to crumple to the floor, her breathing labored. Already feathers were sprouting from her skin and mingling with her hair. The bird was afraid in her. The wild animal sensed its danger and the heat of the roaring fire, but the woman sensed the even greater peril to her family and friends. She fought against the bird, even as Dustfinger and Orpheus fought amid the swirling paper that crackled and withered in the fire.

But suddenly, everything seemed to slow for Resa, and it was as if she was in a strange dream that did not obey the normal rules of time. For a moment, the pain and the thoughts of a swift faded from her mind, and instead she heard another voice, speaking in a slow, even manner as if it was reading aloud from an unfamiliar book. It seemed to her that the voice and the words were familiar, but the bird was coming back, and she could not remember whose voice it was or if she knew the words it spoke. It was as if they were being written in her heart.

"_One day, as he sought words for the torment of six captives whom he had drawn from Inkworld, he heard a strange voice and it spoke words that he had not intended. They spoke of release, and hope, and light, and the strength of his prisoners that he had not imagined. They turned his own dark words back upon him to thwart his dark designs, and the frailty of all he had built and done through his black words was laid bare to him at last. Since he had been molded and changed in Inkworld until all that was left was the bitter man who sought nothing but revenge against the Fire-Dancer and the Bluejay, he knew suddenly that he was as enslaved to the power of his own words and the words of others as any character of Inkheart. And since everything he had strived to build for so long was made of words, when the words failed and burned away, so everything that he had made crumbled away with it. And finally, the Ink-Enchanter knew despair."_

_They're my words, _she thought briefly as the bird took her_, the ones I wrote that Meggie couldn't finish, but it's not Meggie's voice. But I shall never know if they come true or not. We are going to die. We are all going to die in fire and we shall never know._

The heat swept around her, the pain numbed her heart, and she sank into dark dreams.


	26. Burning Paper

Chapter 26: Burning Paper

The fire was out of control. Its heat seared Meggie's face, and the smoke was already so thick in the room that she could see little more than a few feet in any direction. Alvino was choking at her side, trying to cover his mouth and nostrils to protect them from the suffocating smoke, and close by Miranda was crying out, restrained by Elinor from whom muffled curses were issuing. Meggie looked around desperately. Where was Resa?

There was another crash from somewhere close by, but her vision was obscured by the licking flames and their fumes. The sound was followed by a cry of rage that sounded like Orpheus's voice, and suddenly through the smoke, Meggie saw the outlines of the two men, still locked in one another's grasp, furiously striking out, wrestling, and struggling. Meggie wanted to rush to help Dustfinger, but she knew there was nothing she could do. She had to find Resa. But where was she?

There was another crash, distant this time, echoing somewhere below them. "Meggie!" Elinor shouted to her over the roar of the fire and the noise of the fight, "the whole confounded castle is coming down. We've got to get out! We've got to get the children out."

"Resa! Where's Resa?" Meggie shouted back.

The firelight lit Elinor's face red, but Meggie saw her suddenly look around in a panic of fear. "Resa!" she shouted. "Theresa!" But no answer came out of the smoke and flames.

"I can't breathe," Alvino choked, weakly tugging at her arm. "Meggie."

The papers from Orpheus's desk were still fluttering about the room, those that had not already been consumed by the fire that was devouring everything it could find. There was another boom, somewhere nearer this time, as the fire ate away at the wooden framing of the castle causing it to collapse in upon itself. Meggie ducked down under the screen of smoke, looking about desperately.

"Meggie!" Elinor shouted again.

At that moment, Meggie caught sight of something, a small black shape on the ground, a shape with feathers. Quickly, she reached out and caught the swift up in her fingers. The bird was lying on another one of the papers, and Meggie saw words written on the white sheet. She snatched it and tucking both bird and paper to her breast she turned back towards Elinor.

At that moment, Orpheus and Dustfinger almost slammed into her as they staggered out of the smoke. Orpheus had Dustfinger's knife open in his hand and was trying to stab his opponent, but Dustfinger held Orpheus's wrist and was struggling to keep the weapon back. There was rage in Orpheus's eyes, but Dustfinger's scarred face was haggard. Orpheus shoved Dustfinger against the wall, straining towards him with the knife. There was a wild look about him. "It's over, Fire-Dancer," Meggie heard him hiss. "I will send your spirit flying to Death for the last time, and I will find a new place and build a new castle, and the Bluejay will be next. And, who knows, maybe I can still find words to torment you even in Death's realm."

Dustfinger was weakening, and the knife was slowly inching towards his chest. "Not if you're there yourself, Orpheus," he whispered. There was no fear in his face any longer, only a hint of pain and a deep sadness. Abruptly, his eyes left Orpheus and he gazed straight at Meggie. For a moment, she looked back into his eyes and knew the look that she saw there. It was the same expression he had worn in the mine, the minutes before he exchanged his soul for Farid's. His words came back clear to her: _If the opportunity opens up for you to escape, I want you to get them out, Meggie. Get them all back home to Inkworld. Miranda won't leave me here willingly, and I don't think Resa will either. But you have to make them go, Meggie. Do you understand?_

His eyes swept back away from her, and a last look of determination crossed his face as he strained against Orpheus. Meggie knew what she had to do. It hurt her deep, deep down, but she knew her duty, and she had promised him. _It's not right,_ she thought_, he shouldn't have to give up his life for us again._

She pushed Alvino in front of her towards the door. "Elinor, Miranda," she cried, "this way. We've got to get down to the main level immediately before the stairs collapse."

"No!" Miranda screamed, breaking loose from Elinor. "No! I can't leave my father!"

She made it half-way to Dustfinger before Meggie caught her in her free hand. The girl turned on her, beating at her arm and crying, but Meggie didn't let go. "Miranda," she said desperately. "He's giving us a chance to escape. There's nothing we can do for him, but he can know that you will be safe."

Miranda looked at her incredulously, then back at her father. Dustfinger had somehow twisted free of Orpheus's grip, but he was still fighting to keep back the reader's arm. Black ash swirled at their feet, all that remained of Orpheus's burning words. Above them, another room caved in, sending out a resounding boom. "Go!" Dustfinger shouted, not looking at any of them, his eyes locked on Orpheus. "Go now!"

With Resa cupped in one hand and Miranda's arm in the other, Meggie raced to the door where Elinor and Alvino already stood. At the door, she turned one last time to look back into the blazing chamber. The last she saw of Orpheus and Dustfinger was two black figures stumbling back to be lost again in the smoke. Then she turned and ran.

Meggie had been up to Orpheus's chamber enough times that she remembered the way back down. However, she found that some corridors were already blocked by fallen beams and some rooms were too filled with fire to pass through. They had already been forced aside from their path twice now, and they had only come down a few flights of stairs. More often now they heard the sound of the castle deteriorating, beams falling, rooms caving in, walls collapsing. _It won't matter now if Dustfinger dies or not, _she thought_, not if we all die together. Perhaps we should have stayed after all and tried to help him._ But she refused to give up hope, and kept pressing on.

They moved more and more slowly, finding more obstructions as they went down. Elinor, Alvino, and Miranda were stumbling behind her, choking on the thick smoke. Meggie's face felt drawn and stretched from the heat, and even her hopeful heart began at last to falter. They came across the bodies of three of Orpheus's guards in a hallway – a beam had fallen on them. Meggie looked briefly at their faces and saw that one of them was Fulvio.

At last, they came to a dead end, a chamber with two passages leading out from it. One was completely blocked by fallen rubble, the other was filled with blazing flames and smoke which poured forth from it. Meggie turned back to return the way they'd come, but at that moment, the end of the room collapsed, trapping them. The flames licked at the wooden supports on the ceiling above them, and the air danced. Meggie gave up hope.

Something stirred suddenly at her breast, and surprised, Meggie looked down. She had all but forgotten the unconscious Resa. Her eyes fluttered open, blinking in fear and shock, and then she looked up at Meggie. "What's happened?" she asked faintly. "Where's Alvino?"

Alvino stroked his mother's feathers. "I'm here, Mother. We're trapped, and everything's burning." He bit his lip, trying to be brave in front of Miranda and his sister, and not cry.

"We can't find a way out of the castle," Meggie said. "Everything's on fire and the whole place is coming down. Are you all right?"

Resa perched weakly on her fingers. "The smoke and the heat was too much for me while I was transforming." There was a bleared look to her dark eyes and her voice sounded tired. "Where's Dustfinger, Meggie?"

"He…he stayed behind," Meggie stammered. "He had to stop Orpheus."

A bird's cry of pain escaped her beak. "How could you leave him? He mustn't die again, not all alone. We have to go back and help him." She tried to fly away, but Meggie held her between her fingers weakly.

Even as Meggie faltered, to her surprise Miranda stepped forward, her voice strangely calm. "It's what he wanted. He wanted us to be free, but we can't waste our lives now wishing we had done something else. We have to get out and get back home somehow."

"But there is no way out," Elinor said, gasping. "Look around – there's only three doors and they're all blocked."

"But the windows aren't!"

Alvino had been looking around their prison, searching desperately for an escape. His eyes had scanned the blocked doors then turned to the walls, and there he saw the tall windows against the black night outside. The fire had already burst from one of them, the one closest to the collapsed end of the room, but two others windows stood open and yet untouched by the fire.

Alvino jumped towards the closest window with his shout. It was still fitted with glass, but with an impulse, he picked up one of the smaller beams that lay on the floor, and with a great effort, slammed it into the glass. The window shattered and smoke streamed out, making it easier to breathe. He leaned against the sill and saw that there was still a good thirty foot drop to the earth below, but he had an idea. He turned to Resa who was limp now in Meggie's hand.

"Can you fly, Mother?" he asked. "You've got to fly out and get help."

"But there's no one," Resa said, "No one for miles. It took me and Dustfinger two days to get here."

"There's got to be someone," Alvino said. "Please, Mother, you must look. We'll die in here, and you're the only one who can fly."

Resa raised herself and spread her wings. "I'll be back," she said. "I'll find help and I'll be back." Meggie watched as she fluttered through the open window.

~o~o~

Outside, the fresh evening air revived Resa, whose small bird lungs had been overpowered by the clogging smoke. After taking in several deep breaths, she felt stronger and her wings beat the air. For a moment, she fluttered looking back at the castle. It was now a furnace – from every window that she could see, flames and smoke were pouring forth. Portions of the castle had already collapsed and other walls were leaning dangerously. The whole eastern side was sagging outwards. Her heart skipped franticly. She couldn't leave the others, she just couldn't. And Dustfinger. Human tears sprang to her swift eyes and a plaintive sound burst from her, but she forced her mind away from the dreadful thoughts and images that besieged her mind. She was on a mission to save her friends and family. It was too late for Dustfinger, but it was not necessarily too late for the others.

But it would soon be too late. Resa dove down towards the walls, her eyes scanning the area for anyone who could help. Surely, some of Orpheus's men had escaped the fire. She found a dead body on the courtyard near the main gate, but it was burned. The fire must have spread through the castle with terrible speed, fueled by Miranda's fear and anger, and perhaps fueled by Orpheus's own words. Who knew what he had been writing and reading.

But at that thought, something came to her that she had forgotten in her fear and worry. Even now, she wasn't sure that it hadn't been a dream, some vision that had come to her distressed mind. The voice. There had been a voice just before she fainted, speaking words about Orpheus's fall. _And since everything he had strived to build for so long was made of words, when the words failed and burned away, so everything that he had made crumbled away with it._ She thought of the papers that had scattered from Orpheus's desk and began crackling in the fire. As the words burned, Orpheus's power was diminishing and everything he had written was coming undone. Whoever had read them aloud had been no friend of Orpheus. But they had been the words she had written on the cloth, and that had never left Orpheus's room. Who could have read them and where was he?

A crash startled her, and she whirled around to see the east wall of the castle sliding down into rubble. The sight terrified her, and quickly she darted over the wall towards the woods. She must find the person who had read the words. She must find help. Time was so dreadfully short.

The dark trees loomed up in front of her, lit with the ghostly red light of the fire. She landed on a branch, her small heart pounding, trying to not panic, looking about constantly. She was already tiring out, but even now, Meggie, Alvino, Miranda, and Elinor might be burning or the room could be moments away from collapsing.

She flew on, through the trees, across the open rocky valley in which the castle stood. Always behind her, she could hear the crumbling stones falling and always before her she could see the cruel red glow on the ground.

She didn't know how long she had been flying. It seemed like a year, a black year of endless night with no hope. More than anything, she wanted to simply close her eyes and sleep and forget everything. Her wings ached. Slower and slower they beat.

She barely felt it when she struck the earth. Lying there, with no energy to flap her wings again, she sprawled on the moss and grass under the trees, her beak open and her breath coming in quick gasps. It was over – she was too weak and there was no one to help anyway. They would all die and no word would ever come back to Inkworld of their fate.

Her eyes closed. She didn't open them, even when a blast of hot air swept over her or when a deep rumbling growl reached her ears. However, when gentle hands lifted her up, her eyes flickered open briefly. Against the black sky, a blacker shape was kneeling in front of her. A voice, like one that she knew and yet younger, spoke. "You'll be Resa, won't you? I am sorry it took me so long to get here, but Darius couldn't walk any further. Where are the others?"

"They're inside," Resa whispered back. "On the third floor. They're trapped."

The person stood and jumped up onto another vast black shape which erupted beneath his feet, giant wings pounding the air and sending them speeding forward. Vaguely, Resa was aware of the air rushing past and hot scales under her, but then she closed her eyes once more.

~o~o~

Resa had been gone perhaps half an hour. It appeared that they were trapped in a disused room, for there were no tapestries on the walls and little furnishings. This meant that the fire was not blazing nearly as strongly as it was in some other rooms, but it also meant that it was eating away at the wood supports more quickly.

The four companions huddled in the middle of the room, away from the burning entrances and windows. Meggie didn't know how long they had before the room collapsed, but they couldn't have much longer. How much hope was there is Resa's mission? Surely some of Orpheus's men had escaped, but they would be long gone by now. And if Resa could find one of them, what chance was there that one of their former captors would rush back into the blazing castle to save them? Doubtlessly, Orpheus had made sure his fortress was far from any town, so there was little hope in anyone seeing the fire and coming to their rescue.

Meggie had gone to the window again, careful to avoid the flames, and looked out. Still there was no sign of Resa. She looked down at the drop beneath her, and turned back to the others. "If Resa isn't back soon, we're going to have to jump. This room isn't going to stay up much longer."

"Jump! Heavens, Meggie, it's at least a thirty foot drop," Elinor said. "You young ones might bounce back well enough, but I'll break every bone in my body."

"It's better than dying here," Meggie answered. "It looks like it's going to be our only chance."

"Please, can we wait just a few more minutes?" Miranda pleaded, looking terrified at the thought of jumping.

Meggie looked up at the sagging ceiling. "Just a minute or two, that's all we can risk."

Miranda tried pleading with the fire again. It wavered, keeping its distance from them, but it was too powerful to stop now. Meggie didn't even know if Dustfinger could have stopped it at this point.

The few minutes ticked by, and Meggie knew they could wait no longer. She didn't like the thought of jumping any more than the rest, but she knew it might be their only chance. "I'll go first," she said. "Alvino and Miranda can come next, and you last, Elinor. We'll try to break your fall the best we can."

Not waiting for any arguments, Meggie went to the sill, mentally preparing herself for the jump, but as she reached the window, she was almost blown backwards by a gust a hot wind that was blasted into her face. Outside the window, she saw a huge dark shape hovering, like a enormous bird, and on its back was the figure of a man. "Meggie!" he called. "Come on, all of you. You haven't much time."

"Pippo!" Meggie gasped.

The others had gathered around the window, and Elinor voiced her surprise. "Well, I never. If it isn't the very same beast that brought us here, that dragon creature that was helping Orpheus. Are you sure it's safe?"

Relief was flooding through Meggie's heart. She stepped through the window onto the dragon's back, and Pippo took her hand, steadying her. "Come on," he called to the others. "It's quite safe, and there's plenty of room."

They all climbed on, some less eagerly than others, then Fafnir swooped away. The night seemed cold after the heat of the room. Meggie held on tightly to the row of spines along the dragon's back, thinking that she might have enjoyed the ride if it wasn't for her weariness and fear. A voice interrupted her thoughts. "Oh, Meggie, is everyone all right?" She looked down to find Resa huddled against the scaly back of the dragon.

Meggie lifted her, tears streaming down her face. "Yes, yes, we're fine now. You did it – you found help."

"I wouldn't have ever found you if it wasn't for her," Pippo said, turning around to look at her. "It all happened much faster than I thought it would after Darius read the words, and by the time I got here, I could see the place was already ablaze. I thought you might have escaped already, so I was searching in the valley for you when I saw a bird fall out of the air in front of me. I remembered what Darius told me about Resa turning into a swift, so I stopped. It's a good thing I did, too."

"Wait, what words?" Meggie asked confused. "And Darius? Where is he?"

Pippo shook his head. "We'll have plenty of time for stories later. Now, let's get all of you fixed up."

They had barely touched the earth, landing on the ridge of the valley, before a terrific crash sounded from behind them. Whipping around to face the castle, they saw the whole structure finally crumble. Fire flared up towards the heavens and a cloud of smoke and dust obscured the bottom of the valley.

A wailing scream escaped Miranda, and she started to run down the slope back towards the castle, but Meggie caught her. Resa was staring blank faced back down at the ruin below them, and Pippo, Elinor, and Alvino wore grim expressions. Meggie's heart, that had lifted briefly, sank down once again. Miranda fell on her knees, lowering her head and sobbing.

"Well, at least we can all sleep at night without the fear of that evil man writing words about us," Elinor said, but even her voice seemed weak. "You can't say the Fire-Dancer didn't give his life for a good reason."

"We shouldn't have left him," Miranda cried. "We still could have saved him."

Meggie didn't answer. The same guilt was gnawing at her, but she knew it wasn't true. She had done what Dustfinger asked, and that was all she could have done. They stood there all together, gazing down into the ruin below them, each caught in his or her silent thoughts. The fire dimmed and slowly everything around them went black. Above, there was the faint light of stars, but that was all.

"We can't stay here," Pippo said, catching hold of Meggie's arm and pulling. "I left Darius back in the woods – he wouldn't ride on the dragon – and he'll be worried. You're all tired and need some rest and food."

Meggie allowed him to pull her away from the ridge. She was too weary and sick at heart to resist. Elinor and Alvino came after, stumbling in their exhaustion, and Alvino had a burn on his hand.

They had only walked a few paces when Meggie turned and looked back. Miranda still stood alone, silhouetted against the sky like a stone statue. With a sigh, Meggie turned back to her and put her hand on the girl's shoulder. "Miranda, we have to go," she murmured. "I'm sorry."

Miranda didn't move. Meggie looked back down into the valley and saw that the dust was beginning to settle. In some places, dull red flames still showed where they had not been smothered by the falling stones. All in all, it was a sight of dreary desolation, and Meggie wanted to turn her back on it and never think of it or its former master again.

But like Miranda, she found suddenly that she couldn't move. Something had caught her eye down on the valley floor amid the swirling dust and smoke, a small movement. The faintest signs of life. The others joined her, and she felt Resa's tiny claws on her shoulder. "What is it, Meggie?" she asked.

Meggie didn't answer, but continue to gaze down. Now she was sure that the movement was not just a trick of her eyes or an illusion amid the smoke.

"There's someone still alive down there," Pippo whispered.

They all stood still, waiting. The black shape made its stumbling way to the gate, and unclearly through the smoke, they saw it pass through, but it collapsed on the ground on the other side. Miranda gave a shout, and before anyone could stop her, she was dashing down the slope. Meggie ran after her, and Resa took flight. Behind her, she could hear the footsteps of the others as they ran and slid down the rocky slope towards the castle walls, the only part of Orpheus's long labor that was left standing.

Miranda reached the gate first. At her shout, the figure had raised itself from the ground and when she reached him, he was kneeling. Barely slowing her pace, she flung herself on him, and he held her tightly, wrapping his arms about her and burying his face in her hair. Miranda was sobbing and laughing, clinging to him as if she would never let go.

Meggie was laughing too when she reached them. She stood to the side, laughing, and watching the joyful reunion of father and daughter. Resa landed on his shoulder a moment later and laid her feathery head on his cheek. He was laughing too, Meggie saw, as he reached up and stroked her feathers with his other arm still about Miranda. He saw Meggie, and with a small shake of his head and a smile, he held out his arm to her. She hugged him briefly, while Alvino stood behind her with his arms about Miranda's shoulders and her own in a loose hug.

Dustfinger stood shakily then, still with Miranda clinging about his waist. He was caked in ash and dirt, his clothes and skin were burned in several places, and his arm was bleeding from a long cut. His gray hair was singed and there was a choking smell of smoke about him, unlike the bitter-sweet fire smell that used to linger about him. Other than that, he seemed unharmed, although he was coughing and underneath the layer of dust, he looked paler than usual.

As he stood, Pippo stepped forward. He was looking at the fire-eater with a fascinated expression, but when Dustfinger returned his gaze, he blushed slightly, though he didn't look away. Dustfinger glanced over him, and it was clear that he knew perfectly well who Pippo was. "I think we've met before," Dustfinger said quietly, and to Meggie's surprise, he held out his hand.

Pippo grasped it. "Yes, but it's been a very long time, and it wasn't exactly a proper meeting. It's an honor to finally meet you."

The faintest smile touched Dustfinger's lips. "I'll put aside whatever grievances I may have with writers and your grandfather in particular for now," he said. "I'm guessing we owe our escape to you, so we can say that the score is even."

Elinor had come panting down to the bottom of the valley last. She stood furthest from the gates, still getting her breath back, and watching the others greet Dustfinger. As Pippo stepped back however, she took his place, standing in front of the fire-eater. She looked him up and down, noting his filthy appearance, but then she suddenly shook her head. "Oh, for heaven's sake," she burst out, and to the shock of everyone, she hugged Dustfinger.

Surprise registered on his scarred face, but then he gingerly put his arms around her shoulders and carefully hugged her in return. After a moment, she quickly stepped back, brushing some ash off the front of her shirt, looking awkwardly down. Meggie grinned. "Does this mean you and Dustfinger are going to be friends now, Elinor?"

Elinor looked at her, then back at Dustfinger, letting a small frown cross her face. "No, I don't think so," she said in a matter-of-fact tone.

Dustfinger scowled back, but there was a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "Definitely not," he said.

With Dustfinger supported between Pippo and Meggie, the group made their way back up the slope. It was slow going, as all of them were weary and Dustfinger was about to collapse from his injuries and exhaustion. They rested at the valley ridge and all shared some food and water that Pippo had brought with him. Dustfinger leaned back against a tree with his eyes closed. "Just let me rest for a few minutes and then we can start off," he said wearily. "Ugh, I ache all over."

Resa was perched on Meggie's shoulder once again, watching the fire-eater sadly. "You need to take it easy," she said. "Not only have you had a terrible time, but you're not young anymore and you're not as strong as you were on the way here."

In the confusion of the evening, Meggie had forgotten about Dustfinger's loss of his powers. Evidently, he had not though, for he sighed deeply and opened his eyes. "I'll manage," he said in a pained voice. "I'm lucky to be alive, and even if I still could use fire, I don't know if I'd want to after going through that," he said, jerking his head back towards the smoldering remnants of the castle. The words were not true though – Meggie could see in his eyes how much he missed his fire.

Suddenly, Meggie remember something that she had not given a thought to since they left Orpheus's chamber. The paper that she had picked up from Orpheus's floor was still tucked inside her shirt. She pulled it out, remembering why she had taken it. "This flew off of Orpheus's desk when you were fighting," she said, holding it out to Dustfinger. "It has your name on it."

He took it, and his face paled. Quickly, he handed it back to her. "Throw it away. I don't want to see those words ever again or that handwriting. It's caused me enough grief already."

Meggie took it. It was the words Orpheus had read to them that morning – had it really only been that morning? – the words that had robbed Dustfinger of his fire. From her shoulder, Resa had seen what it was as well, and she glanced at Pippo before saying quietly, "Burn it."

Everyone looked at her. "Burn it," Resa said. "_When the words failed and burned away, so everything that he had made crumbled away with it._ Burn it."

Pippo looked at her in amazement. "Those were the words that I wrote for Darius to read aloud, the words that I wrote to stop Orpheus."

Resa looked back, equally surprised. "But they were my words," she said, "the ones I wrote in the cell for Meggie to read aloud."

Miranda took the paper from Meggie's hand. "It doesn't matter whose words they were, since they obviously came true." A small flame rose from Miranda's hand. The burning paper flared for a moment, but then it crumbled to ashes between Miranda's fingers.

A deep sigh came from Dustfinger. When they looked at him, he seemed to be asleep, his eyes closed, his head leaned against the tree, his breathing suddenly slow and even. As they watched, color crept back into his ash-gray skin and years seemed to fade from his face. Meggie saw red slowly seep through his hair, and last of all the scars sunk back into his cheek and were gone. The faint smell of fire reached Meggie, and a small spark shone briefly in his locks. There was a smile on Dustfinger's face as he slept, and Meggie knew for the first time in a long while that everything was going to be all right.


	27. Read to Me

Chapter 27: Read to Me

Meggie's head jerked forward, waking her, as the car hit a hole in the rough country road. Yawning, she opened her eyes and blearily gazed out the window at the hilly landscape that was flying past. The drone of Elinor's voice came from the driver's seat, and Resa's quiet voice added a comment here and there.

On her right, Alvino's head had slumped to the side as he slept and was now resting on her shoulder, and she could feel his light breathing on her arm. His moleskin-dark hair hung down over his eyes, and she gently brushed the strands from his face, smiling at the peaceful expression he wore. It was amazing how quickly he could bounce back after the horror he had been through over the last week.

To her left, Dustfinger was leaning back against his seat. She couldn't tell if he was sleeping or not, but his eyes were closed and his breathing was even and slow. His arm and hand were bandaged, and once more, he wore the drab button-up shirt and long overcoat that she had first seen him in. Miranda was curled up in his lap, her arms around his neck and her cheek pressed against the front of his shoulder. They had been one seat short in Elinor's small car, but Miranda would not have been parted from her father even if they had had enough room for her elsewhere.

She at least was not asleep. Her half-closed eyes gazed out the window, flickering now and again as she watched a road-side tree or telephone pole as it rushed past her range of vision. When she saw Meggie looking at her, the girl offered her a small smile which Meggie returned. But then Miranda tightened her fingers around her father's neck and let her eyelids fall the rest of the way down.

Meggie laid her head back on the head rest again, this time trying to keep her neck loose for the next time they hit a bump. Never had she thought she could be so weary, even after a good night's rest in a hotel room. It would take a while to recover from this vacation. Vaguely, she wondered how long they'd been driving and how far Elinor's house was. Closing her eyes, she tried to recapture sleep, listening to the soft breathing of her companions and the murmur of Elinor's and Resa's voices, thinking over the events of the past few days.

It had taken them three days to get back to Fenoglio's village after the destruction of Orpheus's castle.

That first night they had decided to stay in the dell where Dustfinger and Resa had camped, as Dustfinger was in no fit condition to start out that night. Even though he had regained his old strength and power from Death after Miranda had burned the paper, he was still injured and weary in body and mind. Even though he had disputed half-heartedly that they needed to get back as soon as possible and that he wanted to get as far from Orpheus's castle as fast as he could, it had taken little argument from Resa and Meggie to convince him to rest. They found the dell with little trouble, and almost immediately after lighting a small fire in the make-shift pit and allowing his wounds to be bound, Dustfinger had fallen fast asleep with Miranda loyally at his side. It was not long after that Alvino crawled away into a mossy corner and fell asleep with his hands tucked under his cheek like a pillow.

They had found Dustfinger's pack where he left it by the fire pit. The cut rope was still looped around the tree where they had bound Fulvio, and the contents of the pack were scattered a bit, but the only thing missing was the knife Fulvio used to cut himself loose. Evidently, he had been more worried about getting back to the castle and trapping his enemies than stealing or examining Dustfinger's belongings. Tucked in an inside pocket of the pack, Meggie found a paper with familiar spidery handwriting on it. Dustfinger and Resa's ticket home.

"What about you, Meggie?" Resa asked. "Where are your words from Fenoglio?"

Meggie looked up at the swift who was perched on a low hanging branch of a tree that shadowed the dell. "Orpheus took it from me when we were first captured."

There was fear in Resa's voice. "Then what will you do?"

Meggie smiled. "I don't think we have to worry. We might not have words from Fenoglio, but we'll have words from his grandson."

Resa's small head bobbed quickly as she glanced about the dell. "He's not back."

Meggie prodded the fire with a long stick. "Don't worry – he'll come soon."

Indeed, it was less than half an hour later that Pippo returned with a weary Darius in tow. The reader had been following behind Pippo on foot while the boy flew on ahead, and he had only just reached the castle. He barely acknowledged Meggie and Resa's thanks and without even eating, flung himself down under the overhang of the dell and joined his companions in their slumbers. Elinor smiled fondly over at him as he lay on his back, his glasses crooked on his face, breathing deeply. "Good old Darius, I knew he wouldn't fail us."

She looked at Meggie and Resa. "Watching all those others sleep is too much for me. I'm ready for a good sound sleep myself outside of that frightful dungeon, though I wouldn't mind a bed. I shouldn't wonder if I have the most awful nightmares about fire and collapsing walls and that book-mangler all night though." She stumped off to find a comfortable spot, and Resa with a good-night to Meggie nestled down close by her aunt.

Meggie was tired, but sleep was not yet ready to come to her yet. She sat by the fire, looking into it. It crackled slightly, but this was a tame fire. All the same, the thoughts of the raging flames that had consumed Orpheus and his castle would not leave her mind at rest. She shuddered, trying to block out the memories that crowded into her thoughts.

The murmur of a low voice brought her out of her thoughts. Glancing up towards the brim of the dell on the far side from the sleepers, she saw Pippo perched on the lip of the dell, his legs dangling. Beside him, a great scaly head was laid, fiery eyes drooping and smoke trailing from its nostrils. Pippo was stroking the black snout and talking quietly to the great beast.

Meggie got up, and noticing the movement, Pippo glanced over and smiled at her. She pulled herself up and sat beside him, looking nervously at the dragon, even though it showed no signs of being dangerous. "Thank you," Meggie said. "We'd all be dead if it wasn't for you."

Pippo shrugged. "It wasn't just me. You'd be dead if it wasn't for Darius or Fafnir here too."

Meggie was still eyeing Fafnir cautiously. "He was so ferocious when we first saw him. I was terrified. Are you sure he's safe now?"

Pippo laughed and rubbed Fafnir's nose. "He's certainly been helpful to me and hasn't showed any signs of aggression. I suppose it was Orpheus's fault. I mean, you can't really blame a mistreated dog if it snaps at you, and I'm guessing Orpheus wasn't the kindest master from everything I've heard about him."

"No, no, I guess not," Meggie answered. Tentatively, she reached over and touched the dragon. A fiery eye watched her keenly, but he made no move. "Why didn't he go back into his book when the castle came down? Wasn't that supposed to happen, that when the papers burned everything Orpheus did would come undone?"

"Yes, that was the idea," Pippo said, "but maybe he didn't still have the paper, or maybe he was keeping it somewhere else. In any case, not everything Orpheus ever did could possibly become undone through a little of our magic. It's all far bigger than that. But I'll see what I can do tomorrow."

He ran his fingers over the hard spines on Fafnir's head. "I'll write something to send you home," he said to the dragon. "You don't belong here, do you? You wouldn't ever be happy here."

A low growl came from Fafnir and he closed his eyes.

They were silent for a while, lost in thought. The moon had risen, and a pale, cold light cast itself over the dell, causing long shadows to stretch out from the trees like fingers. The fire was burning low, but still was sending out a little red light. Meggie spoke. "What is your story, Pippo? How did you get here? How did you find Fafnir?"

Pippo shrugged. "I'm sure your end of the story is much more interesting. It seems Darius met up with Dustfinger and Resa in my village, but I suppose you already know that. He was unwilling to just go home like Dustfinger had told him while his friends were in danger, and he felt guilty about running off and leaving you. He remembered me finally, I suppose, but he was a nervous wreck by the time he showed up at my house. He didn't know that I already knew something from you about the whole business, so it was a relief to him at least that he didn't have to explain everything about the magic and Inkworld and all."

Here a faint wistful light came into his eyes, and he paused ever so briefly, but before Meggie could interject, he had continued. "He told me your story, and I'll admit that it was rather a shock to me. I would love to hear the rest of it sometime – who exactly Orpheus was, why he hated your father and Dustfinger, the story of the Bluejay. Darius only gave me small hints into it as he was more concerned with present events." He gave a small laugh. "It sounded like my grandfather's stories though, and I would love to hear it."

"Maybe I'll tell it to you," Meggie murmured. "Or Resa. She would tell it better than I would."

Pippo smiled at her, then went on with his own narrative. "Of course, as soon as I heard what Darius wanted, I jumped on the chance to be part of the story. He was a reader, but his voice wouldn't be of any use without a writer's words. He remembered me, and thought that maybe I was just the one to write something for him. I write sometimes, not like my grandfather did, but I figured I could give it a try.

"Darius wanted to get back to the castle as soon as possible. He was terrified that something dreadful was happening to all of you, and I guess he wasn't so far from the truth. We set out the day after he came to my house, three days after Resa and Dustfinger had left my village according to Darius. It was slow going – Darius wouldn't be left behind, and he had just made the trip. He was tired but determined. I could see he really was afraid for you."

Meggie smiled, recalling Elinor's words. Good old Darius, indeed.

"Well, there really isn't much to say. Late this afternoon, Darius seemed to think we were getting close to the castle. He was also extremely upset for some reason, and even he wasn't sure why. He could only say that he was convinced something dreadful was happening to you, and we had to help you right away or not at all. He asked if I could write something for him to read then and there."

Pippo frowned. "I'm not sure what happened next to tell you the truth. I had my pen and paper out, but Darius and I hadn't discussed what exactly we were going to do when we got to the castle. I had thought about it on the trip, but knowing as little as I did about Orpheus and the whole business, I wasn't sure what I was going to do. I hoped Darius would have an idea. While we walked, he had told me more about the magic and how it worked, so I understood the principles pretty well. I knew I needed to use words from _Inkheart_ – no problem, I've read it plenty of times and knew my grandfather's stories by heart. I knew Orpheus wasn't from _Inkheart_ which was tricky to work with, but I knew he had spent years living in Inkworld and had become quite attached to it. Then it came to me. The words. It wasn't like I was making it up at all – it was more like I was listening to someone and writing it down. There was a voice in my head almost, telling me what to write." He looked keenly at her. "Your voice."

Meggie glanced away. "I read it that afternoon – the words Resa wrote, but Aldo stopped me before I could finish them."

Pippo nodded. "So I suppose they were your mother's words and not mine at all, and I was part of the magic just as much as Orpheus was. _One day, as he sought words for the torment of six captives whom he had drawn from Inkworld, he heard a strange voice and it spoke words that he had not intended._ The strange voice. Darius and I were both part of it, and it all came true. And now Orpheus is gone."

Meggie looked over to where Dustfinger was sleeping. "I wonder how he got out and if Orpheus really is dead. Everything was on fire."

Pippo shrugged. "He's the Fire-Dancer, isn't he? Even if he couldn't control it himself, he knows more about it than most of us do." He grinned. "And in the stories and in The Story, I remember he always had a knack for getting out of tight places."

Tiredness was at last beginning to take its toll on Meggie. She covered her mouth with the back of her hand as she yawned. However, there was still a missing piece of Pippo's story that she wanted to hear. "And Fafnir? How did you find him?"

"Well, we didn't – you could say he found us rather. Darius had just read the words, when all of a sudden a huge, black shape flew over us. I didn't know what it was, but Darius threw himself down on the grass. He was whimpering that we were going to die and that the monster was going to carry us away to Orpheus. The dragon swooped over us again, and I realized what it was, and though Darius hadn't previously told me about it, I figured it was working for Orpheus from the way Darius was carrying on.

"I'll admit that I was afraid there for a few minutes. But I've done a fair bit of reading in my time, and I've always enjoyed the stories about magic and dragons and all that. The fact that it hadn't attacked us yet or breathed fire made me think that it wasn't interested in hurting us. I think he was curious than hungry or angry. Finally, he landed, just a few paces away and watched us. Darius was still terrified, but I tell you, I was too amazed to be looking at a dragon to be afraid any more."

He patted Fafnir's nose and a contended growl rumbled from somewhere deep in the dragon's chest. "It's a pity he doesn't talk. I guess either Orpheus's power was crumbling or he let Fafnir fly free – I'm guessing the former is more likely. I suspect he understands more than he says – most dragons do, I think – so I told him what I wanted. I told him I needed to get to Orpheus's castle right away. He understood the name "Orpheus" anyway, because he growled when I said it and let me climb onto his back."

Meggie's eyes widened. "You're certainly brave, Pippo."

This time Pippo's laugh was a little embarrassed. "It's like the stories I've loved all my life, like the stories Grandfather told me. I was probably more foolish than brave, but I couldn't help it, not with the stories coming to life before my eyes."

Meggie remembered that feeling from long ago. She had become so used to living in the stories that fairies, fire elves, and castles seemed more real than cars, telephones, and factories. But she remembered the first few years when it had all seemed so fantastical, like it couldn't possibly be too real and dangerous. It was that feeling that had caused her to abandon her parents and her world and to plunge into a strange landscape with only one boy at her side. What foolish things longing and wonder can make you do.

"Darius wouldn't go near Fafnir," Pippo had continued as these thoughts briefly ran through her mind, "but I knew that I needed to get to the castle as soon as possible. I didn't know when the words would start to work. Fafnir was quite obliging – I gave him some jerky I had brought along and he seemed to like it – and he flew me to the castle, and well, there was Resa and then there was the rest of you," he trailed off.

For a moment, he stared off into the trees, but then his gaze swept to Meggie. His eyes were very bright, and they reminded Meggie of Fenoglio. "You're tired," he stated. "You've had a rough time and you should be asleep. I'll send Fafnir back tomorrow, so we'll have to walk all the way to my village. We'll have plenty of time then to exchange any more stories."

Meggie didn't feel like arguing. Her lids were drooping and she was yawning more frequently. However, before she went, she gave him a small smile. "Thank you, Pippo."

He nodded. "You're welcome."

Meggie wrapped her arms around herself and settled down close to the burning embers which she could feel faintly on her face. Soon afterwards she was asleep.

~o~o~

Meggie woke to find Resa kneeling close by, a human woman once again, gently laying tin foil packages in the fire that had been stoked up. Dustfinger was beside her, speaking quietly, but Meggie couldn't hear what he said. From the frown on his face, however, Meggie could tell he was arguing with her mother.

"We all need a good hot breakfast and you most of all," Resa answered in a slightly louder tone. "Don't think that just because you have your powers back you can brush off what happened to you yesterday."

Dustfinger made some sullen reply, but sat down on the grass and said no more afterwards. Looking up, Resa saw Meggie's eyes were open and smiled. "Good morning, Meggie. Would you like some breakfast?"

Meggie sat up, shivering in the cold, dewy morning. "Yes, it smells wonderful."

Alvino stumbled groggily over, rubbing sleep out of his eyes and shaking dew from his clothes. He plopped down beside Resa, leaning over the fire. "Mmm, what's for breakfast? I'm hungry"

"Potatoes, carrots, and hamburger," Resa answered, laughing. "A jaunt in a dungeon didn't do anything to your appetite, did it? How's your hand?"

The previous night, Elinor had wrapped Alvino's burnt hand in a strip of cloth from Dustfinger's pack. It had been hastily done since Alvino had been tired, and Elinor had said if it wasn't bothering him then, he should sleep rather than be fussed over. Upon inspecting the burn now, Resa found that it was small and not deep. When it was exposed to the air, Alvino winced, but as Resa rebound it, Alvino said it didn't hurt _that_ much.

Everyone was up now and gathered around the fire, drawn by the tempting smells of breakfast. Resa had put all the remaining tin foil-wrapped meals onto the fire, and there was plenty to go around. It was only when Pippo jumped down over the side of the dell, followed more hesitantly by Darius that Meggie realized Fafnir was gone.

"Did you send him home?" Meggie asked as Pippo seated himself beside her.

A sad look came into his eyes. "Yes, he's gone. He just vanished when Darius started reading. I don't suppose I'll ever see a dragon again, but he'll be happier in his own book. That's the way it generally is, I guess."

Something that Meggie had been thinking about since her talk with Pippo the previous night came to her. "I'm sorry about how I acted last week at your house," she said to him. "After all you've done for us, it would be wrong of me to say no again. I know you haven't asked, but you could come back with us if you want. It isn't really that hard, and we'll need you to write words to send us back anyway."

Pippo carefully lifted steaming potato to his mouth and blew on it. "I know," he answered. "I've thought about it, too." He popped the potato into his mouth, then shook his head. "I'm not going to ask you to do that, not yet at least. My mother had a hard time when Grandfather disappeared, and I'm not going to disappear now. I'll finish school, and I think I might try writing some more. Maybe someday I'll take you up on your offer, if any of you ever come back, or maybe not. I don't think it's my time yet anyhow."

Meggie nodded slowly. His words were calm and confident, but there was a small hint of longing behind them. "Be careful," she told him. "If you let it, longing can do dreadful things to your heart."

She saw the corner of his lips rise in a small smile. "Yes, I know," was all he said in reply.

Dustfinger was the first to finish, and he stood with his pack over his shoulder. "Are we going or not?" he asked gruffly. "I'm ready to go home."

They started off, plodding north through the forest, sometimes grouped together when the trees thinned out, sometimes in single file with Pippo leading when the woods became dense. Over the course of the day, they stopped four or five times to rest, drink, or have a small snack. Resa insisted it was on the children's behalf, but every time she saw to it that Dustfinger rested.

The fire-eater was putting on a good show, but small hints, a stumble here, a groan he couldn't quite keep back there, told Meggie that he had not recovered as quickly and well as he was trying to make them believe. Darius and Elinor were also tired, the reader in particular as this was his third trip through the forest in the past week and a half. And in truth, Meggie wasn't sure if she could have moved much faster than they were going. Once they began walking, she found her legs cramped and tired, probably from disuse in the cell.

They passed the time, however, exchanging stories. Darius and Pippo told their end of the story that Meggie had heard the previous night, and then Resa told a brief version of their tale to Pippo, at his insistence starting all the way back with Capricorn and Fenoglio's disappearance before moving on to Orpheus's part in the story. Pippo listened enraptured, asking questions occasionally, but mostly listening to Resa's story. Meggie smiled to herself – Resa did know how to tell a story well. Even when she already knew the tale, she found herself listening to her mother with interest.

When she had reached the end of the story, there was a pause in which the leaves crunched loudly under the travelers' feet. Birds sang loudly from the trees around them, and the day had become warm. It was late afternoon.

"But what about you, Dustfinger?" Resa asked after a while of silence. "How did you escape Orpheus? Is he really dead?"

Dustfinger was ahead of the rest of them. Meggie couldn't see his face, but his hand tightened. "Yes, he's dead, I suppose," he said, and there was a tightness in his voice as well. "But I don't want to talk about it." Miranda took his hand and squeezed it, and it seemed he relaxed a little, but none of them ever could get him to say more on the topic.

Not long after the sun began to sink behind the trees, they found a clearing to camp in. It was not as sheltered and pleasant as the dell, but once they had their fire going in a makeshift pit and had passed around some fruit and bread from Pippo's pack, things didn't seem too gloomy.

The next day was harder. They were all sore from their previous day's walk, and they had exchanged all their stories. Sometimes someone would strike up a conversation with another, but these were usually brief and breath was spent mostly on the effort of walking.

Meggie found herself longing for home. She had never thought she could miss the busy streets of Ombra with the castle looming over the houses and shops so much. She missed the river winding by outside the walls with the goldmockers singing from the banks. She missed the welcoming arms of Doria and his smiling face, with the white scar on his forehead that she often traced with her fingers. But most of all she missed Mo. Oh, how she missed Mo. When she thought of him, a feeling of guilt touched her. She had not spent nearly enough time down at the small cottage in the woods in the past years. Her life was too busy now with the duties of a well-to-do craftsman's wife to think much about a tall, dark-haired man whom she knew still loved her more than anyone else in any world. She wanted to rush to him, a little girl once more, and tell him how much she loved him back, and to hear his beautiful, soft voice in return.

_You've had quite an adventure, haven't you, Meggie?_ She could hear him saying. _You'll have to tell me all about it._

A tear slipped down her face, but she quickly wiped it away with the back of her hand, and kept walking. Yes, it was definitely time to go home.

It was not until late the next day that the eight tired travelers stumbled into Fenoglio's village. After being isolated in Orpheus's castle, which seemed hundreds of miles from anywhere, Meggie looked dazedly around at the bustling people in the seaside town. It seemed so strange, these people going about their normal lives all these years with no idea that the castle of an evil man had stood a three-day walk from their homes. Of course, it wasn't the first time. _But they're both gone now,_ Meggie thought_, Capricorn and Orpheus, and they won't ever bother us again. We're safe. At last._

They bought a pizza and some ice cream, and sat in the patio outside the shop to eat supper. "There," Elinor said with satisfaction, setting the pizza in front of Alvino and Miranda. "Since you're last pizza was so rudely interrupted, you'll have to try some now."

"Are you eating, Pippo? You're welcome to share it with us," Resa said, beckoning to the young man who was hovering behind them.

Pippo took a slice, then looked guiltily up the street. "I need to be going now. I…I told my mother I was visiting a friend, but she's already going to be wondering why I've been away so long. I can't stay away another night."

Resa gave him a hug. "Thank you for everything, Pippo. I'll make sure to tell Fenoglio all about your part in the story."

Pippo grinned self-consciously and shrugged. "Let me know if there's anything else I can do for you. If you're ever back and need something written, you know who to go to." They waved to him as he trotted off down the street towards his house, and before he disappeared, he turned and gave them a final wave in return. Then he was gone.

"A very nice young man," Elinor commented. "You would hardly believe he's related to Fenoglio at all."

Meggie hid her smile at this, but exchanged a look with Resa, who leaned over to whisper in her ear. "She seems all right with Dustfinger now. Next task is to reconcile her with Fenoglio, eh?"

Whether or not Elinor heard the remark, she didn't comment on it. She was looking up the street towards the seaside as she spoke. "It's too late to go back to my house now. I suppose we'll have to stay in the hotel again."

Dustfinger frowned and looked like he was about to speak, but after staring hard at Elinor for a second, he leaned back and remained silent, but his eyes were impatient. Meggie understood – she had hoped also to be back in Elinor's house that night, for it was the place that felt like home in this world, but she knew Elinor was right.

"What do you call this again?" Alvino said with his mouth full, savoring the pizza slice. "Do you think Uncle Doria could figure out how to make it back in Inkworld?"

There was laughter from around the table, and Meggie leaned back, folding her hands on a comfortably full stomach. A nice hot supper, a warm shower, and a good night's rest. And after that, a return journey to her home. It all sounded to lovely to be true.

The hotel had plenty of rooms available, and Elinor booked two adjacent ones for that night. Meggie enjoyed her shower, glad to be finally able to wash from herself the dirt and ash, the last memorials of Orpheus's dungeons. Already it seemed like a fading dream.

Binding up her long hair into a fluffy towel that felt wonderfully soft against her skin, she emerged to find Dustfinger and Resa having an argument in the next room.

"It'll be fine," the fire-eater was saying, "and I'm willing to bet I know more about healing than anyone else in this village."

"At least let's get it properly bound," Resa countered belligerently. "And between you and Alvino, we've used up all the bindings you brought along. I'm worried about that arm of yours, and I want to have it looked at before we leave this world."

"In the morning," Dustfinger haggled.

"Right now," Resa insisted.

Meggie turned away, sighing and scrubbing at her wet hair with the towel. Dustfinger could be dreadfully stubborn when he wanted to be, but she knew who would win the argument. There were few people who could last out against Resa. It was not long afterwards that the two of them vanished downstairs.

Meggie propped herself on her bed, which she was sharing with Miranda as previously. Staring out the window, she wished she had a book to read, but there was nothing in the room except a brochure advertising the hotel and a travel guide. She sighed, closed her eyes, and not long after was asleep.

~o~o~

"We're going home! We're going home today!"

"Hmph, we are indeed, but I thought it was you who was so eager to see other worlds and cars and televisions and all that, Alvino. Changed your mind, have you?"

Meggie woke to the sounds of her brother's and aunt's voices. Stretching and yawning, she rolled onto her back and looked about. Alvino was restlessly pacing the small room, while Elinor was still leaning back against the pillows in her bed, watching him pace and frowning.

Alvino stopped for a moment, but stood fidgeting. "No," he answered Elinor, "but I've seen it now, and I'm ready to see Inkworld again."

Elinor's lips curled in a thin smile. "Not going to be dashing off to other strange worlds anytime soon then, hmm?"

Alvino grinned mischievously and began walking again. "Not right away. But maybe next year I could try another world or come back here again."

Elinor sighed and closed her eyes.

By nine, they were all up, and Resa had brought a fine breakfast of toast, muffins, and sausage to their room. Before she let him eat, Resa had a look at Alvino's hand, putting some salve on it, then wrapping it in new bindings. Meggie noticed that Dustfinger also sported new bindings on his burns and on the long knife cut on his arm.

"How did it go last night?" she asked Resa as they sat down to eat. "Is his arm badly hurt?" She nodded discreetly towards Dustfinger, feeling he would be embarrassed if he knew she was asking about his injuries.

Resa smiled. "It wasn't as bad as I feared, and there weren't any infections as I feared either. He has a few stitches, and there'll be another scar, but I doubt that bothers him." She looked at him for a few seconds longer. "He's lucky that he escaped with so few injuries." She looked in Meggie's eyes, and there was a tiredness to her gaze. "We're all lucky."

Elinor's car was still in the hotel parking lot where they had left it the last week. However, as they reached it, Dustfinger suddenly put a hand to his forehead with a groan. "The motor bike! I forgot all about it, and it's still parked outside Fenoglio's house!"

Resa stopped him as he began to hurry off. "Where do you think you're going? You're not driving that thing."

Darius saw another argument was about to begin between the two, and he knew both of them well. He stepped beside them, adjusting his glasses. "I'll take it back," he said. "That's what Dustfinger told me to do before, but I went to Pippo instead. I didn't spend much time as Orpheus's prisoner, so I'm probably in better shape. Let me do it."

"Thank you, Darius. That's very kind of you," Resa put in quickly before Dustfinger could complain.

They crowded into Elinor's car, and Elinor started the engine. As they drove out of the seaside village, Meggie looked back, thinking of everything that had befallen her there and wondering if she would see it, or the young man with Fenoglio's eyes, ever again. Something deep inside her told her she would.

Her thoughts were jerked back to the present as the car hit another bump and she realized she had been dozing again. She glanced around and realized they were on a gravel road now and that there were trees on either side. Trees that looked very familiar.

Suddenly, she sat up straight, causing Alvino's head to loll from her shoulder. As she did so, the trees opened out and Elinor's house rose before her. A swelling sense of contentment and happiness rose in Meggie as she looked at the familiar, beloved sight. Gently, she shook her brother. "Alvino, we're back."

He opened his eyes as they stopped in front of Elinor's garage. He looked groggily around a few seconds, then a smile broke out across his face, and he echoed her words happily. "We're back!"

They got out, easing stiff legs, and Meggie, Elinor, Alvino, and Miranda went to get the luggage that they had never used from the house where it still lay on the kitchen floor. Darius returned as they brought the last bag out, and he and Elinor disappeared inside the huge, unkempt house, with Elinor complaining heartily about the state everything was in. Alvino and Miranda dashed off around the huge yard, chasing one another and stretching their legs after the long car ride.

Meggie stood at the crest of the hill, looking down at the lake below. Alvino and Miranda were splashing through the shallow edge, and their laughter drifted up to her. Behind her, Darius and Elinor were dragging armfuls of books out of the house and debating on which ones they should take with them and how many they could manage. She turned around and heard Elinor firmly insisting that they bring her hundredth anniversary illustrated edition of _The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn_. Meggie shook her head. Oh Elinor, would she ever change?

Not far away, Dustfinger and Resa were leaning against the side of the house in the sun, talking together in low voices. As Meggie's gaze rested on them, she saw Dustfinger murmur something in her mother's ear then snap his fingers lightly. A flame arose from his hand, and Resa watched it, answering him in the same quiet tone.

Meggie turned back to watch the children. Inevitably, Alvino had tripped and fallen headfirst into the lake. He came up, completely soaked and laughing. Miranda was laughing too, wet up to her waist. She pulled at his hand, tugging him up and they continued splashing down the water's edge.

She heard soft footsteps behind, but she didn't need to turn to know who it was. The faint smell of fire reached her, and she could feel the gentle heat that radiated from the Fire-Dancer as he stood beside her, looking down to where Alvino and Miranda were playing. For a while, both were silent, then he spoke. "Thank you for watching after her."

She turned to look at him, feeling the awkwardness again that she had felt when speaking to him in the dungeon. "It was nothing, really."

His curious smile tugged at his lips. "Quite the contrary, it meant a great deal to me. It was…comforting to know that if things had gone worse than they did, that she would have a good home." He was silent, and Miranda's laughter floated to them. "I know you don't know how much she means to me," he said after a minute, "not yet anyway. But when your child is born, then you'll know."

She stared at him in shock. "How…how did you know? I…Doria…we hadn't told anyone."

He chuckled and glanced at her. "I was raised by a healer. My wife's had three children, and, well, you could say I'm slightly more observant than some people. But don't worry, I haven't given your secret away – I figured you and Doria would want to announce it when you were good and ready."

She brushed her hair back behind her ear. She and Doria had learned only a few days before she left that they were going to have a baby. In fact, she had been meaning to announce it during the meeting at her parents' house, but had refrained when she had offered to go on the trip. She had known that Mo, Resa, and Elinor would never have let her come back here if they knew she was pregnant. Doria had been worried, but she had reassured him. "I'm only a month along, and we won't be doing anything dangerous," she had told him. "It'll be fine." Automatically, her hands went to her stomach, and she hoped that everything that had happened over the last week would not have harmed the small new life inside her.

She realized that Dustfinger was looking keenly at her, and she suddenly wondered how much of her thoughts he was reading on her face. "If I know anything about your family, it would take a lot more than this jaunt to hurt your child," he said, confirming her suspicions, but he was smiling. "I think Alvino went through far more before he was born, and it doesn't seem to have done him any harm."

He glanced back down towards the lake, and his expression slowly changed. His face became masked over, but in his eyes, she saw a familiar look of longing and homesickness. For a moment, she expected a small, horned head to poke out of his backpack and hiss at her, but, no, that was long ago. But perhaps not _so_ long ago.

Their eyes met again, and she knew why he had come to her. Slowly, he drew a paper from inside his coat and held the wrinkled parchment out to her. She noticed suddenly that Resa was standing close by then, out of hearing range and gazing down the hill at her son, but ready to come as soon as Dustfinger called her over. A flame burned deep in the Fire-Dancer's eyes. "Read to me, princess," he said quietly.

Meggie took the paper from him, smiling. "I can do that for you, Dustfinger."


	28. Return to Inkworld

**So, here it is – the very last chapter of "Return from Inkworld". Thank you everyone who has been reading and reviewing (and hopefully enjoying) this story. It has been a lot of fun to write, and hopefully it has been equally fun to read. Someday I plan on continuing this story, but for now, thank you for reading, and enjoy the last chapter! – Sauron Gorthaur**

* * *

Chapter 28: Return to Inkworld

It had been such a long time. One day, two days, ten days that Resa and Dustfinger had been gone, and the others had been gone three days longer. Mo felt fear on his skin like a dark mist, and he closed his eyes and tried to keep the nightmares out of his mind. But they wouldn't stay away.

The helplessness of it all was the worst. At Capricorn's village, he had been there to rescue Meggie from the Black Jackets' prison and read the words to strike down their leader, here he had had a sword and a new name to defend those he loved and the secret of three words to destroy the Adderhead, but now there was nothing. His two children had vanished into another world – a world he had once called home, but now seemed so strange – and his wife had vanished after them. And all he could do was wait. And the waiting seemed like forever.

Even after Resa and Dustfinger had left, he had not been convinced fully that the Fire-Dancer was right. He knew Dustfinger and the loathing the fire-eater had for his world. He had recognized the fear in his eyes as the fear of any parent for a child – his own fear at times – but he had not been convinced that their children were in danger and certainly not from Orpheus. But as the hours trickled by and turned into days, Mo's heart began to sink into doubt and then into fear. What if Dustfinger was right? What if Orpheus was behind this fear? If everything was all right and they had found the children, Elinor, and Darius, then they would have been back by now. At least Dustfinger would have been. He would not still linger in the world he hated if his daughter was safe.

And so he waited in fear and his thoughts whispered mockingly to him. _You had to trust the words again, Mo. Why did you trust the stupid words? And your stupid voice._

The first night after Resa and Dustfinger left, he went home, back to the little cottage in the woods, but it was dark and quiet. He lit a single candle and placed it on his bedside table and for a long time lay on his back, staring up at the flickering patterns the light made on the ceiling. He tried to reach out with his heart and sense the man his heart was connected to, but there was nothing, not even the faintest stirring of flame. But why should he expect anything? Dustfinger was gone far, far away. Far away like his children and his wife.

He didn't remember sleeping, but suddenly there was yellow light falling across his face and the candle had gone out. He rolled over, half-expecting Resa to be slumbering there, but the bed was empty beside him. Swinging his long legs over the side of the bed, he sat up, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands. His eyes ached deep in the sockets as if he had not slept at all. He stood and gazed out the window, listening, but there was only the sound of birds chirping in the forest and the faint hum of insects. No sound of Resa's laughter. No sound of Alvino playing in the garden with a stray fairy. No sound. No family.

Mo went back to the river – it was too quiet and still in the house.

He came out of the woods slowly, his eyes sweeping the river bank where he had stood with Resa and Dustfinger yesterday and had watched them disappear. He didn't really expect to see them there – it had been less than twenty-four hours and their children might not have been at Elinor's house – but his heart sank all the same to see the bank empty. Even though he had not expected anyone, he had still hoped.

But the bank was not all deserted. A single figure knelt in the long grass amid the spring flowers, and long, black hair fluttered faintly in the breeze like the tattered remnants of a prince's banner. Roxane. Mo approached slowly, wondering if she had been there all night.

She didn't look up as he quietly walked past her and gazed down the river towards Ombra. It was hazy in the distance, wreathed in morning mists, but he could see the castle rising high above the fog. He wondered where Fenoglio was and if he had lost a moment's sleep the previous night. Maybe he should go to him anyway, despite Resa's words. Maybe he should ask for words and read himself after them. What good could he do here?

He turned and looked down at Roxane. She was bent over in the grass, her legs beneath her and hidden by the long skirts she wore. There was dew on her shoulders and in her hair, confirming for Mo that she had not gone home last night. Her face was turned down so he could not see her expression, but he could see what she was looking at.

A flame. Cupped in no container but her hands was a small, straight fire, which Roxane held as if it were made of gold. As Mo stared at it, he saw that not only didn't it burn her flesh, but it was flaring in an odd, continuous rhythm. Out and in, out and in, it pulsed like some strange heart. Mo did not need to guess whose heart the fire pulsed with.

He sat down beside her, but her gaze never turned from the flame in her lap. He felt awkward and stared back at the river, anywhere but at the beautiful woman who reminded him so much of his own loneliness. Already the fogs were rising from the river and the walls of Ombra were becoming clear in the distance. Surely, they'd be back some time today. There couldn't be anything too wrong, nothing that Meggie, Resa, and the others couldn't take care of shortly.

But the day wore on and there was no sign of them. Mo knew that Fenoglio's words would bring them back to the place they had left from. He walked up and down the bank or stood by the river's side, looking out across the lilies and fairies that skimmed over the surface like large dragonflies. Then his legs would grow weary of standing and he would sit again on the soft grass and wait, and Roxane was like a silent shadow close by, making no sound and never taking her eyes off the flame.

Finally, the sun sank behind the trees, and the walls of Ombra fell into black shadow until Mo could only see the lights of the fire that the guards lit on the walls. Nothing. The nocturnal sounds of the river and forest went on, but Mo didn't listen to them. For the first time, true doubt and fear was settling over him. He hadn't dreamed that Dustfinger at least wouldn't be back before this evening, if not all the others with him. But there had been nothing, nothing but his dark thoughts.

He had brought with him only some bread and cheese, which he had eaten at noon. He had offered some to Roxane, but she just shoke her head sadly at him and for a moment glanced up from the flame to give him a quiet "no thank you." He saw the pain in her face when she looked at him, and he turned away. To lose a loved one. How clearly he still remembered the dread of that feeling.

_It's all right,_ he told himself as he watched the moon rise over the black horizon. _Maybe they went on a day trip to a nearby town. They weren't going to stay at Elinor's house the whole time. Resa and Dustfinger will be waiting for them when they get back, and they'll all return to Inkworld, and so everything will be fine._ But the trip back to the cottage was long and dark, and he desperately missed the sound of Resa's laughter.

That night, he slept, but only to have nightmares.

And in the morning he was back at his post by the river side, and Roxane appeared as though she had not moved since he last saw her.

That day dragged by as slowly as the others. Mo felt as restless as he had the evenings twelve years ago when he had waited with the Black Prince's men before a raid. But this was worse. Then he had been able to grip his sword and know that soon he would be able to release his energy and forget his fear and restlessness in the fight, but now he could only sit or pace. Waiting, always waiting.

He had brought food enough this time that he could stay out on the bank for several days without having to go back to the cottage. If any of the travelers returned, he didn't want to miss them. And he might be needed. Any moment, Resa could appear before him on the bank, saying that it was as Dustfinger had feared and they needed the Bluejay after all. No, he couldn't leave until they came back.

When he wasn't staring at the bank from whence they had vanished, his eyes found a way of wandering towards Ombra. He could see the light glance off the spear tips and the helmets of the guards who paced the walls. Violente had no fear of enemies these days from Argenta, but she still knew it was unwise to let down your guard. So, why had he been so stupid to let down his? Why had he let Alvino go to the other world?

And somewhere behind those walls Fenoglio was writing. It wouldn't be hard, really. All he had to do was go to Fenoglio and ask him to write a few paragraphs to send him to Elinor's house in the other world. He wanted to return so badly. It was almost like a voice calling him, whispering in his ears, convincing him that he must go back. But there was something about the voice that made him shudder, and even though he longed to go, some other voice deep within him told him he mustn't. He turned away from Ombra and stared at the woods instead, trying to remember what Resa's fingers felt like on his cheek.

The day was done and there was no sign of them yet again. Mo wrapped himself in the black cloak that he had worn as the Bluejay and lay on the cold ground. The moon was a half-crescent that let only a small trickle of light fall across Inkworld. Dustfinger was right about this world's nights – the nights here were black, but Mo didn't love the blackness as Dustfinger did. Off to his right, a point of red light in the darkness told Mo where Roxane still knelt at her vigil, but then he closed his eyes and slept uneasily.

When he woke, he found Roxane slumped in the grass asleep, dew covering her dress and beading in her hair. There was more gray than black in those locks nowadays, but Mo still had to admit that she was beautiful. His fingers strayed to his own moleskin-dark hair, which also was flecked with dark gray strands. He wasn't as young as he used to be, and neither was Resa. He found himself worrying about her, and wondering if she would be able to hold up against whatever she might be facing. He looked at Roxane again and wondered what it was like to have a lover who didn't change. There were times when he looked at Dustfinger's unaged face and felt more jealous than the times when Resa still spoke of the Fire-Dancer with love in her voice.

When Roxane stirred and sat up, Mo was sitting beside her. Even though she had slept, she still looked weary as if her weariness came from somewhere deep in her soul that mere sleep couldn't touch. Immediately, her eyes went to the flame, but it was still pulsing softly on the candle stand where she had put it.

"Roxane," Mo said hesitantly.

The minstrel woman tore her gaze reluctantly from the flame, and she looked into Mo's eyes, her own eyes dull and red-rimmed. He was worried about her. He was glad she had slept, but he didn't think she had eaten since Dustfinger left. He hadn't tried speaking to her, sensing that she desired neither pity nor comfort, but now he felt that he needed to at least make an effort. He held out a slice of bread to her. "Please eat."

She turned her head away. "No, Bluejay," she answered. "I'm not hungry."

"You haven't eaten for a day and two nights at least," he insisted.

She looked at him again, and her eyes were piercing. She was beautiful, but cold, as if someone had carved her out of ice. "You really believe they'll be back, don't you?" she asked, but her voice carried the note of one wise in years scorning the foolish beliefs of a child.

"Yes," he said. _But do you? Do you really believe? After this long?_

Pain passed over her face. She wasn't as good at concealing her emotions as her husband was. "Yes," she said. "Yes, perhaps you are right. Your wife and your children will come back to you, and everything will be all right… for you. But I know Dustfinger too well, and despite his promises, I cannot tell if I will see him again. Two weeks or ten years, who can tell what shall draw him away and what fancies will take his thoughts. And if his thoughts ever return to me, will he have a daughter to bring back?"

"He's changed," Mo said, and he believed it. "He'll come back to you."

"We shall see," Roxane answered and turned away. Mo left the bread sitting next to her, and an hour later when he looked again, it was gone. He hoped she had eaten it, but he wondered if some bird or fish was enjoying it instead.

That afternoon Mo glanced up to see a rider coming across the plains from Ombra. He jumped to his feet and heard Roxane stirring behind him. At first, Mo could only indistinctly make out the figure that sat on the gray horse's back, but as he came closer, Mo became sure of what he had at first suspected. Fenoglio.

The writer pulled up on the reins, but had to scold angrily at the horse before it stopped. Mo offered him a hand as he began to swing his leg over the horse's broad back, but after some groans, Fenoglio swung off by himself and landed on his feet, rubbing his back and giving the horse a dirty look. When he saw Mo and Roxane standing on the bank waiting however, a large smile broke across his face. "Well, hello, I thought I might find someone here," he said, taking a step towards them. He winced and rubbed a hand over his knees, muttering something unflattering about age, then he straightened, a somewhat forced smile on his face. "Mortimer, so what's the news? Have you seen anything of the others yet?"

He sat down on the large flat rock on the bank, still rubbing his knees and looking at Mo expectantly. Mo shook his head. "Nothing. We've been here the whole time and there's been nothing from them."

"Oh well, I guess that's not surprising," Fenoglio said lightly. "If I had a chance to go back, I'd make the most of it, too. There's an awful lot to see, and Alvino and Miranda will be wanting to see everything. That's children for you. My grandchildren used to run me ragged I remember and that was thirteen years back. They'll be back in another day or two, I imagine – Dustfinger and Resa, I mean. Meggie and the others weren't supposed to be back for another eight days, if I remember correctly."

Mo felt irritated at the light-hearted and dismissive attitude of Fenoglio, but he concealed his irritation the best he could. Roxane, however, didn't try to hide her pain from the writer. "Dustfinger wouldn't still be gone if everything were all right," she said coldly. "They say you are the writer who made everything in this world happen – can't you write something to help them? To protect Dustfinger?"

Fenoglio looked vaguely surprised at the cold way in which Roxane addressed him. "Well, it's not all as easy as that," he blustered. "They're not in this world, and I can't be expected to make things happen when I don't have anything to go by. And Dustfinger knows how to take care of himself. And Resa," he added with a hasty look at Mo.

Roxane didn't reply, but turned her back on Fenoglio.

Fenoglio continued to look at the minstrel woman with consternation, before his gaze switched to Mo. "Did I say something wrong?"

Mo shook his head wearily. Fenoglio would never change. "No, she's just worried about Dustfinger, that's all. And you can't really blame her – she's lost him twice already."

Fenoglio's brows creased. "Well, I can't be blamed for either of those times. Alright, I did write his death in the book, but that didn't happen, did it? So, I can't be blamed. It wasn't my fault that he was trapped in our world for ten years or that he gave his life for that boy…or that he went after his daughter this time. I may have written the words that sent him there, but it was not my idea. No, indeed. This isn't like one of my stories at all."

Mo looked out across the river. "No, Signor Fenoglio, no one blames you for this. We're just worried about our families, that's all."  
Fenoglio rose and clapped him on the back. "Heavens, don't be! Just wait, the story never goes too wrong. Your voice is a gift."

He returned to the horse and with difficulty mounted. "Ugh, I need to be getting back to Minerva's before sundown. Those dratted armorers had me up at eight-thirty this morning. Eight-thirty, I tell you! And Rosenquartz will probably have forgotten that I need three new parchments laid out for Balbalus before tomorrow morning. Let me know when they get back – they'll have fabulous stories to tell, I shouldn't wonder. I'll have to see about writing them down."

Mo watched until the black shape of horse and rider disappeared through the gates of Ombra, and the waiting continued. There was nothing for the rest of that day, and the next day brought no changes.

The sun was getting low on the horizon on the fourth day since Resa had left, the seventh day since Meggie and Alvino had left, and Mo was beginning to feel a deep weariness in his very bones, when suddenly a heart-rending sound cut across the evening. At first, Mo didn't know where it had come from, but as he sat up and looked around startled, his hand automatically going to his side where he had worn a sword many years ago, he realized what the source of the sound was.

Roxane was kneeling in the grass, bent almost double and a wailing, unending cry, like that of an injured animal, was coming from her. Mo quickly knelt beside her, thinking she had just woken from a nightmare, but then he noticed what was wrong.

The flame had gone out.

Dustfinger's heart had stopped beating.

Mo's heart sank into a final despair. If Dustfinger was dead, then how much hope was there that Resa was still alive? Or their children? He looked around desperately, as if he might find the flame escaped from its candle and flickering in the air like a firefly. But the sun was hanging low on the horizon, and there was no fire.

In his own panic at the thought of what this meant for Resa and his children, he had almost forgotten Roxane. As he stood, his heart throbbing with fear, her sobs rose again, this time mingled with words. "He will never come back. Didn't I tell you? Why did you have to go? And now I do not even have a body to go to at night. Never, never, never!" She hugged herself wretchedly, rocking back and forth, and Dustfinger's name came from her lips again and again in a despairing chant.

Mo tried to wrench his thoughts away from Resa, Meggie, and Alvino so as to comfort Roxane. The disappearance of the flame didn't necessarily signal the deaths of any of his own family, but there was no doubt that Roxane had just lost her husband yet again. He tried to put a hand on her shoulder, but she flung it off with a force that surprised him. She staggered to her feet, stumbling back and blinded by tears, and he could see a dangerous madness in her eyes. "Roxane," he called, standing and following her.

"No!" she cried. "Do not comfort me, Bluejay! It is over. My daughter is lost and he is dead, as I knew he would be if he left me again. I have outlived him too many times. There is no joy in life left to me. I will find my grave, and it will be a cold grave with no fire. No fire."

Fear rose in Mo's chest. He could see that Roxane wasn't in her right mind, and he was afraid of what might happen. He didn't know if she was desperate enough to end her own life, but he wouldn't have been surprised to see her collapse before him then and there, slain by her own broken heart. He tried to hold her flailing arms, but she struck him away and he released her again, afraid of hurting her.

She staggered a few steps then fell to her knees again, her hair streaming around her. And suddenly to his horror, Mo saw that there was a knife in her hand. Without waiting to see what would happen next, he snatched his food pack from the ground and swung it at Roxane. It caught her on the back of her head, and she crumpled underneath his blow.

Mo was shaking as he rolled her over and laid her gently out on the grass until she looked like she was peacefully sleeping. "I'm sorry," he whispered to her. "I really am." He took the knife from the grass where it lay, shuddered, and tossed it in the river.

Then he sat and stared at the empty candle stand as the sun went down, his heart heavy. He was saddened to think of Dustfinger dead yet again, but his worry was more for his wife who had been with him. What had happened? He no longer had any doubt that Dustfinger had been right. The fire-eater had survived for ten years in that world before, and Mo could not believe he had died from a careless accident. No, someone must have caused his death, and the only person that could have been was Orpheus.

Mo didn't know how long he sat there, his mind in a turmoil. He kept glancing over at Roxane, wondering what would happen when she woke. Would the madness have passed? But even if she was no longer crazed by her grief, he didn't doubt that she would fade in her sorrow. He knew of nothing he could do to ease her pain, so he simply waited.

His eyelids were drooping when he suddenly became aware of a red light on his left cheek. Sleepily, he opened his eyes and took in the fact that a flame was burning in the candle stand again. His drowsy thoughts didn't register the significance of that fact for a moment, but then he came wide awake. The flame was burning again, pulsing as if it had never gone out. Dustfinger's heart was beating again. Consternation filled him for a moment, but then the truth struck him. Of course, Dustfinger could leave his body. He had seen him do it in the Castle on the Lake when the Nightmare had attacked him. He had appeared in every way to be dead. His heart could stop beating, but Dustfinger was not so easy to kill as he once had been.

He looked at Roxane, his heart swelling again. Now he hoped she would wake soon so he could tell her the good news. But how good was the news? Yes, Dustfinger was still alive, but he had felt the need to leave his body. Why? Had he been threatened? Mo knew the dangers associated with Dustfinger's power, and he knew the Fire-Dancer would not risk losing himself for any trivial matter. It seemed that even if Dustfinger was alive, there was still some sort of trouble.

Once again, he found himself looking at Ombra. He could reach Fenoglio in less than two hours. _And what then, Mo?_ He asked himself. _What then? You don't know where they are, and how would you find them? You must stay here, here where they can find you if they need you._ Oh, but how hard it was to wait.

Roxane came around within the next hour. He heard her moan slightly, and as she sat up, he offered her water. She drank, still groggy, looking around with a blank expression on her face. But then he saw her remembrance – pain etched itself across her face and her lips parted in a half-cry, but then she stopped. He held out the candle stand to her, and the beating flame reflected off her eyes. Her hands trembled as she took the stand. "How…?" she whispered.

"His heart's beating again," Mo answered. "He must have left his body, but now he's come back."

Roxane stared at the flame as if she would devour it, but then anger flashed across her face, an anger that comes from fear. "He knows it's dangerous," she said. "Why would he do it? And he knew I would be watching. Why? Why would he give me a reassurance, only to stop his own heart?" She began to sob again, but Mo couldn't tell if it was from anger, the terror and agony she had just gone through, or weariness.

"Whatever his reason, I'm sure it was a good one," he said, thinking that not so long ago, he would not have said those words and believed them. "I'm sure he knew what he was doing."

"He had better," was all Roxane said, and the coldness returned to her face. Mo was glad in that moment that he was not Dustfinger, even with an unaged body.

"You should try to get some sleep," he said to her awkwardly.

Her eyes flashed in the dark. "Yes, perhaps," she replied. "But I have just been sleeping, I believe, Bluejay. Why did you strike me?"

"You had a knife," Mo said slowly. "I wasn't sure if you were in your right mind and I feared what you would do. I'm sorry."

She stared at her own hands. "A knife?" She shuddered. "I don't remember, nothing but the pain. I told him I would die if I lost him again." She turned away and lay down on the grass, but Mo stood watch over her a while, still afraid that she was not herself. But he grew satisfied that she was sleeping peacefully and lay down himself at last.

~o~o~

And so the days passed until Mo didn't know how long he had waited there on the bank of the river, staring across the empty land and the pale, gurgling water. Each morning that he rose and looked around to see himself and Roxane still alone brought him closer and closer to despair himself. When Resa and Dustfinger had been gone a full week, he no longer had even the faintest doubts that something was wrong. The flame in Roxane's keeping still burned, but Dustfinger's heart could still be beating in some black pit or in a snare of Orpheus's design. And he could not be sure of anything that might be happening to Resa, Meggie, Alvino, and the others. When Mo couldn't sleep at night, he closed his eyes and pictured their faces in his mind and tried to see them laughing and smiling. He whispered their names, but they still didn't come._ Come home,_ he thought_, please come back home._

One pale morning in early dawn as the sun was just sending out tendrils over the fields, he woke to the sound of voices close by. Opening his eyes, he saw two figures standing on the river bank close together, murmuring so quietly that their voices sounded like part of the stream's sounds. Roxane stood to one side and the other stood facing away from Mo, so that he saw red hair in the dim light. He lifted himself up on his elbow in a quick movement, for a moment glancing around anxiously for Resa, but then he realized it wasn't Dustfinger, but Brianna, who was there. He settled back down, his head on his pack, but he couldn't hear what either of the women said.

Brianna left before the sun was fully up, but she had left a full sack of food. The food Mo had brought from his cottage had dwindled, and he hadn't wanted to return for fear of missing the return of his family. Roxane had only eaten a few times since they started their watch on the bank, but she gave him the sack when he finally got up. "I'm not hungry now, Bluejay," was all she said when he tried to insist that she keep it.

Two evenings later, Mo looked across the fields towards Ombra and saw what appeared like large fireflies dotted across the surrounding plain. Campfires. Even from this distance, at times Mo caught the sound of the Motley Folk instruments. It was not a large group – there were only three or four campfires – but Mo watched them curiously from a distance, wondering if there were any Players he knew. He thought about walking across the plain and among the fires and tents, drowning his worry for an hour in the entertainment that the Motley Folk could provide. It had been a long time since he had listened to the minstrels singing new songs, the tightrope-walkers and acrobats performing their amazing feats, or the fire-eaters turning the night to flame. But no, he didn't want to see the last group at least, and he didn't want to stir from his vigil. Roxane didn't even give the distant camp a glance.

Mo might have not wanted to see fire-eaters, but his desire was not granted. The sun had been down perhaps two hours and he was sitting with his back to Ombra and the camp, his face to the river, when he heard a voice suddenly raised not far off. "Well, where is he then? He's not at the cottage, and Brianna said I'd find you and Silvertongue here. I want to talk to Dustfinger!"

"Well, he's not here," Roxane's cold voice reached him.

Mo stood up and turned to look at the newcomer. He barely recognized the young man who stood before him, clad in the red and black of a fire-eater. Farid's dark hair was longer than it used to be, but the unruly curls still didn't quite reach his shoulders. His skin was dark in the night, and his dark eyes flashed angrily with an inner firelight. He looked strangely like Dustfinger and yet unlike him also.

When the young fire-eater saw Mo stand, he stopped glaring at Roxane – obviously their relationship hadn't improved much over twelve years – and stepped towards him. When he looked at Mo, there was still anger in his face, but also confusion and a hint of pain. Mo wondered if he still thought of Meggie when he looked at him. "I want to talk to Dustfinger, but she won't tell me where he is," Farid said, casting Roxane a scornful look. "Will you tell me where to find him, Silvertongue?"

Mo rubbed his brow. "I'm sorry, Farid, he's not here. He's gone back to my world."

The confusion in Farid's face increased for a moment, but then his eyebrows knitted together. He opened his mouth as if to make some angry accusation, but then he stopped and continued staring at Mo. Mo smiled grimly to himself – Farid knew that his face was an open book, and that it didn't lie the way Dustfinger's did.

"Why?" Farid breathed after a moment. "He hates that world. Why would he ever go back? It took him ten years to escape before. I was with him and I saw his pain."

"He had to," Mo answered. "I'm sorry, it's a long story, and I don't know the end of it yet. There's trouble with Orpheus."

Farid started at that well-remembered name, and his dark face contorted in hate and anger. "Has he hurt Dustfinger? I'll kill him if he's done anything to him." The Arabian accent that used to be so strong in Farid's voice was all but gone now. "Why didn't anyone tell me? I would have gone with Dustfinger to help him. He can't have left again!"

"That is what he does." Roxane was looking coldly at Farid. "He leaves, and if he tells you that he is going and where he is bound, then you are lucky. Do you think he would have qualms about leaving you, when he leaves his wife without a second thought? I told you once before that he doesn't need you or any other. You say you know him, but how little you know him, Fire-Dancer's apprentice."

Farid clamped his lips shut and turned his back on her, but Mo saw the pain on his face. "He had to go to save Miranda…and to help my children," he said, speaking to Roxane as much as to Farid. He didn't know why he was defending Dustfinger like this. Maybe it was for all the times the Fire-Dancer had protected his daughter, and his wife. Maybe it was because he knew what Dustfinger's heart felt like now, or because he himself now knew something of bitter longing and desire for adventure.

"Miranda." Mo heard a tenderness in Farid's voice, but also fear. Apparently, Farid's relationship with Dustfinger's youngest daughter was better than his relationship with Dustfinger's wife. "Please, Silvertongue, tell me what's going on."

So Mo told him, but Roxane walked away and stood with her back to them, a cold, straight figure in the dark.

When he was finished, Farid passed a hand across his brow. There was still a hint of anger and scorn in his tone when he spoke. "I knew Cheeseface would be back sooner or later. There was something dark in him, worse than in Basta or in Capricorn or in the thieves in my story. I didn't trust him from the moment I saw him, and I learned to trust him even less when I served under him. He's dangerous, Silvertongue. You shouldn't have let Dustfinger go. I could have helped."

"Could you have?" Mo replied. "Perhaps, but there's nothing we can do now. They're beyond our help. We can't agonize over what we could have done. Believe me, I spent many years doing that and it doesn't help."

"You can read me after him, Silvertongue. You and I can go together." Farid's eyes shone in the dark.

How tempting it was. He had an excuse now to leave his post and follow his wife and children into his own world. Perhaps together they could indeed help. Neither of them was powerless. The Bluejay and the Fire-Dancer's apprentice.

But he shook his head finally. "No," he said. "I can't send you there alone, and I can't leave. Even if we could find them, what could we do? And what hope do we have of finding them? Resa was right – I have to stay here and wait for them."

Farid looked helplessly around, as if another reader might be standing nearby whom he could convince to read him there. When he turned back to Mo, he glared at him as angrily as he glared at Roxane and sparks fell from his fingers. "I should be there with Dustfinger," he grated. "I'm not a boy that needs watching after anymore. Fine, Silvertongue, keep me here, but if anything happens to him, fire will be your enemy for evermore."

He spun around and strode off, back towards the camp by Ombra, and the speed with which he did it made Mo suspect that there were tears on his cheeks that the fire-eater didn't want him to see. Mo felt sick at the despair and anger in Farid's voice, but what could he have done? Fenoglio would have had to write more words, and Mo couldn't have sent him to the other world alone in good conscience.

The tents were still there the next day, but they saw nothing more of Farid, and Roxane didn't mention his visit. In fact, she said nothing that day as the morning wore on. Mo tried to count out on his fingers how long he had been waiting. It has been ten days since Resa and Dustfinger left, and thirteen days since the others has departed. Almost two weeks. Tomorrow was the day that they had planned on coming back. Who knew? Maybe after all, they would appear tomorrow, smiling and laughing, with stories of everything they'd seen and done. Maybe Resa and Dustfinger had found them, but had decided to stay with them until the two weeks were up. Resa probably wouldn't mind seeing that world again and showing her son the reality of the stories she told him, and perhaps Dustfinger had stayed to keep on eye on Miranda. Or maybe they wouldn't come at all, and no one would ever know what had become of them. No! As soon as Mo thought that, he made up his mind. No matter what Resa had said, if they weren't back by the evening of the next day, he would follow them into the other world. And if the tents were still raised by Ombra, he would take Farid with him. He had waited long enough.

The sun was rising high towards its zenith. It was a warm day, and the birds were singing loudly from the rushes and the grass. Normally, Mo would have enjoyed the beautiful day. He would have brought his tools out onto the grass and done what work he could under the beaming sun, enjoying the light breeze and the sounds of spring. Alvino would probably have been racing around the cottage, pursued perhaps by Miranda, or would have plopped down beside him on the grass to ask him questions or simply to watch him work. And about this time, the smells of lunch that Resa and Elinor were cooking in the cottage would have been drifting out the open windows. Mo closed his eyes and sighed.

Roxane was sitting with her back to the bent aspen that grew up from the river bank. Her eyes were closed, and her chest rose and fell to a regular pattern. She had been sleeping lightly for half an hour or so, and Mo didn't disturb her. He suspected that she hadn't been sleeping well at night. If he had to leave, he would feel bad about leaving her alone again, but there was nothing he could do about it. He had to go to his family.

And then it happened – the miracle.

There was no sound, no tingle of magic in the air. As once Capricorn, Basta, and Dustfinger had appeared in his living room without warning, suddenly two figures were standing on the bank, looking around dazedly. Mo leapt to his feet.

Resa turned to look at him, and a happy cry sprang from her. She rushed to him, and Mo caught her in his arms, pulling her close, pressing his face into her hair – it was cropped as short as a boy's, but he didn't care – and savoring her warmth, the feel of her breath on his neck, and the touch of her fingers. He kissed her, long and gently, before pulling away from her to look into her eyes. She was crying, but she drew a hand across her cheek, clearing it of tears. When she stroked his cheek however, her fingers were still wet. "Oh, Mo," she whispered.

Mo stared at her, feeling as if he would drown in his love and happiness, but then he heard a cry from behind him, a sound that seemed to express emotions so similar to those rushing through his own heart, that for a moment, he thought it might have come from him. He looked around. Roxane.

~o~o~

Roxane had been dreaming of fire. It licked through her dreams, but it was far away and she couldn't quite grasp at it. Figures flitted about in it, familiar figures, but she couldn't make them out or remember where she had seen them before. And when she reached out to touch them, they vanished and became nothing but shapeless smoke that drifted away on a harsh breeze.

"Roxane."

The voice came from somewhere close by and there was soft heat on her face. The fire around her flickered, wavering, and dimmed. The shadow figures tugged at her, but the voice sent them flying away into the dark recesses of her dreams. "Roxane, I'm back."

She opened her eyes. She was still leaning against the aspen, but her head had lolled to the side. A dark shape, black against the bright light behind him, knelt before her, and his hand was laid on her cheek and from it she could feel the gentle, pulsing heat. She stared into his eyes, trying to comprehend what new dream she had stumbled into.

"Dustfinger?"

He smiled and nodded, leaning forward to kiss her lips, but she pulled away from him. As surprise crossed his face, she drew back her hand and slapped him across his cheek. A muffled grunt came from him. "That was for leaving me and scaring me almost to death," she said to him, but then she pulled him in and gave him his kiss. "And that was for coming back," she said when she had pulled away again.

He lifted a hand and ruefully rubbed his cheek, looking a little indignant, but then he just laughed and shrugged, before hugging her again. "I love you too, Roxane," he whispered in her ear before he kissed her again.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and cried. The wait had been so long, but he was back now, and suddenly her doubt in him seemed foolish. She sobbed his name, remembering the darkness and her fear, assuring herself that it was truly her husband who held her in his arms. Her eyes met his again. "And Miranda?" she asked. "Where's Miranda, Dustfinger?"

~o~o~

It was only when Mo looked heard Roxane's question that he realized no one else had arrived on the bank. Sudden fear took his heart again, and he opened his mouth to ask Resa about Meggie, Alvino, and the others, but before the first words came out, from out of nowhere five more figures appeared on the bank.

Meggie was still holding the paper she had been reading from, and Alvino and Miranda were standing on either side of her, both of them wet. Standing a few paces away from them were Elinor and Darius, who could hardly be seen behind the stacks of books that they were balancing. "Well, I never," Elinor's voice came from behind one of the stacks. "Here we are home once again, and I must say it I won't be leaving again in a hurry. How delightful!"

Alvino caught sight of his parents almost immediately and ran to them, flinging his arms around Mo's middle. Despite the fact that his son was completely soaked and water droplets were spraying from his tangled locks, Mo caught him up and hugged him back, laughing. "Mo!" Alvino shouted down his ear, "you'll never guess what happened to us. We were captured and put in a dungeon, and Miranda can use fire, and Orpheus… but then Resa was there and I thought she was a guard, and I rode a dragon!"

Nearby, Miranda was hugging her parents and babbling in a smiliar fashion to Alvino while Roxane held her close, and Dustfinger stood with his arms around them both, a smile flickering over his face. They looked happy. So happy.

Mo glanced around, as another arm slipped around him, and he gazed into Meggie's face. She was smiling. "Hello, Mo," she said.

How tall she was, such a beautiful, young woman now. Mo brushed her gold hair back behind her ear, smiling back at her. "It sounds like you've had quite an adventure. You'll have to tell me all about it."

The noise of happy crying, talking, and laughing was all around him. There was obviously a grand story to tell, but it could wait. The danger was passed, the waiting was over, and Mo had a family again. And that meant that everything was very well.

The End


End file.
